Make you feel my love
by potterbite
Summary: Short stories (some longer, some shorter) I write and gather here :) Mostly Captain Swan.
1. Three little words

**Three little words**

* * *

><p>"Just say it, love."<p>

"I can't!" Emma cried out, a hint of panic in her voice, her chest getting tighter at the thought. Killian smirked at her.

"You're being quite ridiculous; it's just three little words." He licked his lips before moving his head closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You're not helping right now." She breathed heavily through her nose but she wouldn't back away from him when he was already asking her for some of her pride; she wasn't going to give him any more than she had to.

"Oh, is that so?" he mused; he lifted his hook to brush it against her jawline and the cold – or so she told herself because she refused to give him the satisfaction – made her shudder. "You know you want to say it."

"I really don't," she whispered; even though she had closed her eyes when he had touched her with his hook – a pleasure she quite enjoyed when he wasn't being obnoxious – she could sense his smile because he knew he had won.

"So… ?" he trailed off, waiting for her to speak.

She sighed loudly. "Fine, I'll say it. _You are right_. THERE, are you happy?"

He grinned as a child let loose in a candy store, so she couldn't help but smile too.

"Immensely," he told her as he pulled her in for a soft kiss, and Emma felt that maybe giving up some of her pride now and then weren't so bad if this was what she got in return.


	2. I'm yours

**I'm yours**

* * *

><p>"Do you want to get married?"<p>

The thought left her mouth before she had any time to stop it; it was something that had entered her mind without any reason.

(Other than her lying naked in bed with Killian and watching his rings on the nightstand, wondering if he'd gotten some of them from Milah).

(Not that she was jealous. She didn't do jealousy).

Killian froze beside her. "Do I – excuse me?"

"Later," she said, moving to get out of bed. His left arm caught her around her waist – which was saying something since he refused to even let her look at it most of the time – and pulled her back. In a movement she had no idea how he pulled off, she was suddenly lying underneath him, arms held down by his right hand in a firm – but not frightening – grip.

(Honestly, it turned her on a bit).

"No, we finish this now, love," he said, a small grin on his lips.

(He knew she could not resist that, that bastard).

"Well, I just meant in general, someday to someone," she said, trying to get out from the very uncomfortable corner she'd painted herself into. He cocked one of his eyebrows at her, and she sighed. "If you know, then don't ask."

"So, do you want to?"

He caught her off guard, so her mouth hung open stupidly for a few seconds before she could speak. "To you?"

"No, actually I'm asking on behalf of Robin." He laughed – a beautiful sound she still loved as much as the day she'd first heard it when she'd gotten her memories back – and she felt a smile playing in the corner of her lips.

"Sure," was all she said, meeting his eyes.

And then they both laughed, high on life and each other.

(And maybe they had sex in every room in her apartment after that).

(And maybe, just maybe, she fell asleep on top of him after he'd told her he loved her and gave her one of his rings when she said she loved him too).


	3. It was all a dream

**It was all a dream**

* * *

><p>"So it was all a lie, huh?"<p>

Emma stood on the deck of the Jolly Roger, rain pouring down and clouding her vision, and she was soaking wet to the point where her once bright red jacket were maroon, and her bra felt like a swimsuit.

Killian – who was up by the stern trying to protect what could be shielded from the rain – looked up to meet her eyes, blinking hard to get rid of the water.

"What would you like me to say, love?"

Emma would've liked him to say loads of things, unspoken subjects that lay between them since her memory returned. Things they somehow always avoided speaking about like the plague – the fact that for the first time ever, she'd been happy, or even that he had tried True Love's kiss on her, were things they never mentioned, as if it had never happened.

"That it's OK for me to despise everyone here for bringing me back," she said, quietly enough so she couldn't be certain he'd heard her over the rain; a small movement towards her proved he had. "No!" she cried out, and took a few steps back. "I was happy! Don't you get it? I had Henry, and I _loved_ our life together. All my memories of him growing up with me." Her voice cracked a bit, but she needed to vent and she needed someone to listen who she knew wouldn't hate her for what she was feeling. Her parents would listen, and tell her it would be okay but they wouldn't understand the sensation of yet again being alone – because she really weren't alone anymore, but the feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away.

When he made another attempt to get closer to her, she stood still. "When he lost his first tooth and cried until I promised a new one would grow out. How I taught him to ride a bike, and how he got a bruise on his knee that's still there! When we stayed up all night eating pizza and watching movies – none of that's even real! Everything was just lies, and now all I can remember is being abandoned all my life, and abandoning him."

Killian closed the small distance left between them and put both his arms around her, his right hand cradling her head, a soothing gesture.

"Sorry," he said against her hair – she thought she felt him kiss the top of her head, but she couldn't be sure.

"I am too." And she squeezed him hard, clinging to the only real thing she knew.


	4. The untold tales

**The untold tales**

* * *

><p>"This is the most disastrous thing I've ever witnessed!"<p>

"Calm down, Killian," Emma said, rolling her eyes at him. She sat on the couch in her living room and watched Killian pace back and forth in front of her, waving his hook in the air as if hoping to hit someone invisible.

"I will not! Someone needs to be punished for this god-awful thing. Are you telling me this is acceptable?"

She shrugged. "It's the way it's always been."

He stopped in the middle of a step and turned towards her with a look so comical it took everything she had not to laugh – she bit her cheek hard, and tasted blood. He seemed to notice, though, because he raised an eyebrow before he continued ranting.

"The way it's always – well, I don't care. It cannot go any further, this abomination –"

She sighed. "Killian, get over it. It's a cartoon."

"But did you see the hair?!"

"_That's_ the thing that bothers you the most? Not how Pan is portrayed?"

"Him, I can get over. But the hair, it's bloody ridiculous."

He became quiet, apparently with nothing left to say about the movie they'd been watching, so she seized the moment to pat on the spot next to her and said, "If you watch Cinderella with me, I'll tell you which one's supposed to be Gold." When he hesitated, she added, "It's a woman."

In less than a second, he was on the couch next to her, his right arm thrown over her shoulders as he waited eagerly for her to start the Disney classic. She laughed, thinking about how ridiculous her reality had become; there she was on the couch with the man she loved, who just happened to be Captain Hook.

She snuggled deeper in his arms as she pressed play, and made a mental note to ask him about all the untold tales of his life someday, hoping – and knowing – they'd have the rest of their lives for that.


	5. Puzzle

**Puzzle**

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><p>"What does that do?"<p>

"It brews coffee," Emma replied, trying to not sound irritated or amused at his question – but with them just getting sillier by the second, and given that he'd asked fifty questions just like it within an hour, she failed.

Killian was rummaging through her entire kitchen, stopping as soon as he found something unknown and mysterious (which was about once every minute), asking her what it was. She admitted, the vacuum and the toaster had been the highlights of her year, but she'd reached her limit.

"How – " he began, but Emma put her hand up.

"What's going on, Killian? Why this sudden interest in my kitchen supplies?"

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was brave enough to tell her the truth before he mumbled something, looking down at his feet, fidgeting with some loose buttons on his shirt.

She moved closer to him. "What did you say?" she asked, frowning at his nervousness – a side she hadn't seen much, or any at all of, before.

He kept his eyes on the floor as he said quietly, "Because I thought I'd fit in better in your life if these things weren't unfamiliar to me."

She'd been prepared for all sorts of ridiculous answers, but not that one, which was why she was overcome by affection, her heart clenching at the thought that he felt like he didn't belong.

She gripped his wrist and lifted it to put his hand over her heart, at the same time as she put her other hand on his stump, relieved that he didn't shrug away like he always did when she touched him there.

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, giving it all the tenderness she had.

"But you do fit in, and you do it perfectly. You're my missing puzzle piece."


	6. Dreaming of you

**Dreaming of you**

* * *

><p>She couldn't get the idea of him dying out of her head.<p>

It was ridiculous, really, because he wasn't even real – or at least, he wasn't supposed to be. He was just someone who came to her in her dreams, asking for help, reaching out something looking like a hook, a pleading look in his eyes.

The dreams began when she and Henry moved to New York, and at first they were uneventful at best; an invisible man calling her name, a ship on the horizon, a bean glowing in the dark. It wasn't until recently they had become more gripping, always making her wake up with a pounding heart and anxiety she couldn't explain.

The invisible man kept calling her name, and after a while he stopped being invisible. The first time she saw his face, she _knew_ she recognized him – or her dream-self did – so she reached out to touch him, and he took a step back. He said nothing that time, nor any other time after that; he just looked at her, the pain he held clear as daylight, as well as something else she couldn't place –_then_.

Seven months after arriving in New York, she realized the man in her dream loved her. That night she woke up with indescribable ache everywhere, her pillow wet from tears she didn't know she'd shed.

Another two months of silent gazes, her dreams took a turn for the worse and she had to stand frozen, watching the still silent man die a slow and agonizing death, the pain he felt visible on his scrunched up face as he took his last breath night after night.

From then on, she always woke up by the sound of herself crying, until one day when the impossible happened; the man stood on her doorstep, telling her he was an old friend, and kissing her. Panicking without a clue to how he was real, she kneed him as hard as she could before closing the door.

"Who was that?" Henry asked her when she came back to their breakfast table, still in a daze.

"Nobody," she replied, while all she could think was _I think I know that man, and I think he loves me._

She lifted a finger to touch her lips, feeling like there was something familiar about it, like an old memory, or a lost dream. She didn't finish her breakfast.


	7. 1 - I will remember you

**I will remember you**

* * *

><p>"Do we have to have this argument right now?"<p>

"Obviously," Killian replied, dragging out the syllables. He was in full uniform, on his way to yet another journey as a lieutenant on his brother's ship, leaving at first dawn the following day. Emma sighed, her heart breaking more for every time he left even though she knew he couldn't possibly stay there with her.

Tonight, there was a ball, celebrating the success the Jewel of the Realm had had during the years since Captain Liam Jones had taken over the command; to celebrate, they would go off to try and find the lost treasures mentioned in tales of mermaids and sirens.

To Emma, it sounded ridiculous and frightening.

"You'll just have to wait. Rumpelstiltskin is right over there, and you know he watches us, afraid I won't marry his son," she said, smiling and waving to someone in the ballroom in order to seem nonchalant of Killian's presence. "Meet me in the garden in a bit."

Ten minutes later, she walked out there to find him sitting on a stone bench, rolling a flower between his fingers. He looked up as she came closer.

"You know I have to go," he said quietly.

She sighed, and sat down next to him. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. Listen, there's something I need to tell you – "

"Killian! You're needed in here," came Liam's voice from the balcony above them. He got up immediately, and fixed his jacket.

"Sorry, love, what were you going to tell me?"

"It can wait," she promised him with a soft kiss. "Now go."

She watched him leave with a weight on her shoulders, realizing they had so much they needed to work through. All for another day.

It was only a week later that her world suddenly collapsed.

"I'm sorry, they ended up in Neverland," David said, his voice thick with concern for both his favorite Captain and his lieutenant, and for his daughter. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she took a step back and shook her head, as if to deny what she couldn't possible believe to be true; he couldn't be gone.

_Neverland_. His words rang in her ears, the cursed land thousands of men had gone under trying to either leave or enter. The land where nobody had ever survived, and if the island wanted something, it got it. She was never going to see him again.

It was through a daze of overwhelming emotions she walked back to her room, refusing to speak to all those who looked at her, or reached out an arm to comfort.

Once behind the safe, closed door, she sunk down to the floor and stared at her arms blankly and laid a hand on her stomach almost unconsciously, seeking comfort from someone too small to hear, and whispered into the darkness of her room, "_I didn't mean for it to end like that, Killian. I didn't even get to tell you._"

And she curled up in a ball and cried until there were no more tears left in her, when all she was left with was an empty hole in her chest and a child to raise without Killian. Without her love.


	8. 2 - Will you remember me?

**Will you remember me? [Part 2 of I will remember you]**

* * *

><p>It had only been four months since Killian had embarked on his journey that ended his life when Emma was married to Baelfire.<p>

The ceremony was officiated by Rumpelstiltskin – a foul grin on his face the entire time – and it was done with only close family present; Emma had started showing earlier than they'd hoped for and they (meaning her parents) didn't want to start any rumors of a bastard child. Emma was kept inside the castle grounds after that, and every servant was under a strict vow of absolute silence with threats on their lives if they ever spoke of what they saw or heard. The idea was to come out in public when the baby was born, claiming it to be Baelfire's; Emma agreed, mostly because she was numb without Killian, but also because she wanted the best for their unborn child and Baelfire was a nice man. He wasn't Killian, but without him, she'd might as well try to find happiness somehow.

It worked out as well as anyone could expect, really. Five years later, she considered Baelfire a true friend – a bit nasty with some alcohol in his body, but otherwise always a perfect gentleman. She didn't love him in a way she knew he did her, but she respected him and knew her son, Henry, thought him to be his father since that was what everyone had always told him. She never called Baelfire Daddy or anything other similar, not even when she spoke to Henry, because it still hurt a lot when she thought about the life she and Killian could've had if they'd only had the courage to claim it, to shout out their love from the top of their lungs so everyone could hear.

It was an ordinary day, and she was getting Henry dressed, when she heard people whispering loudly on the town square; she ignored it and gave her son a wet kiss on both his cheeks, making him giggle and her heart warm.

Suddenly, her father burst in.

"Emma, they're back."

"Who's –" she began, the question almost out of her mouth until she noticed her father's expression. A chill went down her spine – a chill of fear, of hope, of love.

She did what she had to do, and took her son with her to the throne room where the sailors were waiting for the king and queen. As soon as she set her foot inside light chamber, she saw the back of his head, recognized it almost immediately in the small crowd and acted on impulse when she ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck when he turned around.

"Killian!" she exclaimed, breathing out loudly, feeling how true happiness was supposed to feel like for the first time in years. But then she noticed how stiff he was, so she let go of him and met his eyes; he smiled friendly at her, innocently almost.

"Excuse me, miss, but do I know you?"


	9. 3 - Weep not for the memories

**Weep not for the memories [Part 3 of I will remember you]**

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, miss, but do I know you?" were the only eight words he could've ever told her to make her heart stop beating; to question if he was making some kind of terrible joke she didn't understand; to question why fate would be so cruel as to send him back to her, if he didn't even remember her.<p>

The only words she could form was a vague _No_, a whisper she couldn't even feel leave her lips as she turned around to leave – she needed to breathe, her lungs weren't big enough for the air she needed, the world was spinning –

"Emma," she heard her father's voice say close to her ear.

"Henry – "

"He's alright. Your mother has him." He put an arm over her shoulders and led her outside, to the courtyard, where he sat her down on one of the benches there.

Memories came flowing at her in an instant; Killian nervously asking her for a private dance; Killian kissing her softly just as the sun was going down; Killian saying goodbye, promising to return as always; Killian coming home to her, embracing her, lifting her up; the two of them laughing together, feeling complete; Killian making love to her under the stars in their secret corner of the garden –

She rose quickly, managing to convey panic as her father took her back inside instead, as far away from the throne room they could get.

She felt helpless, like a damsel in distress; she hated it, and so she decided to no longer feel that way and took a couple of deep breaths, refusing to give in to any more sadness.

"I'm fine. I need Henry," she said when David frowned at her as she started to walk away from him. When she was gone, he let out a small breath as his chest hurt for his daughter's sake, at the same time it swelled with pride at how strong she was. He decided to have a little chat with Killian.

* * *

><p>"You know, this is actually a good thing," a female voice said to her when she came back to her room after putting Henry to bed that night. She turned, and saw a fairy.<p>

"Blue, you scared me," she said, putting a hand over her chest as she went over to sit in front of her mirror, picking up a brush. In slow, precise strokes she began combing her hair, thinking only of the present, forcing her mind to stay there.

"I'm sorry." She smiled, but it never reached her eyes; it unsettled Emma, making her squirm a bit.

"What is a good thing?"

"Killian not remembering you." Emma froze with the brush midway through her hair as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet the fairy's gaze in the mirror. "For the sake of the child."

"Killian not knowing Henry is _not_ a good thing."

"I'm not talking about Henry."

"Then what –" She removed the brush altogether and got up to face Blue. "He has another child?" she whispered, not accepting her own words for even a second.

"He has."

"You're lying."

"Sadly, no. The crew was in Neverland for less than a year, and when they escaped they landed someplace special, a land without magic. Once there, they all forgot their loved ones. Killian met someone, a woman named Ava."

Emma shook her head wildly. "I don't have to listen to this," she said as she made for the door but stopped with her hand on the handle, desperate to hear everything even though it couldn't possibly be accurate.

"It's the truth," Blue promised. "I was afraid what kind of power lay behind the True love you and Killian had, so it was necessary - "

Emma whirled around, shaking with rage as the realization hit her. "Excuse me? YOU'RE responsible for this whole mess?"

"Why do you think I sent him to Neverland? It was for your own good – "

"My own good?" The need to yell was taking over, slowly building in her chest as she walked up closer to the small fairy; so she screamed at the top of her lungs, a burst of purple light leaving her as she did.

She wasn't sure who was more surprised at what happened, because they were both equally stunned to see Blue be the same size as Emma – which was what Emma had wished for, of course, so that she could do some damage on Blue, preferably to her face.

Her hand had only connected with Blue's jaw twice before her parents came rushing in through the door, dragging Emma off of Blue until they realized what was happening.

"Blue?!" Snow shrieked when she saw who it was, turning to Emma with a question in her eyes.

"I need to go, you tell them of your master plan, Blue," she said in a defeated voice and left before either of them had any time to respond.

* * *

><p>Her plan had been to escape, to be alone with her thoughts until morning came and she had to be there for Henry, her treasure in life. When she came out to the garden, she automatically went to hers and Killian's secret corner, which she was thankful for only a few minutes later when Killian came outside with a woman and a child.<p>

Something in Emma's heart broke at the sight, something she didn't even know could break, and something she had been sure had broken when she thought he was dead.

He laughed and picked up the little girl in one of his arms, putting the other around the woman.

"Are you happy, my love?"

"With you, always," the woman responded and kissed him on his cheek, making the little girl giggle. "And one for you, as well, Hope," and she did the same to the girl, poking her in her stomach at the same time, causing a hysterical laughter; Killian put her down again, unable to hold her still. When he stood up again, he put his arm back around the woman.

"Are you glad I brought you here, Ava?" he asked, watching after Hope who was running around in small circles closer to the hidden Emma – who held her breath, hoping her loud, beating heart wouldn't reveal her.

"Very much, although I still have a hard time believing everything is real. Fairies, ogres, wizards, magic, it's a lot to take in."

"Indeed. I hope I'm worth it," he grinned, and placed his other arm around her as well.

"Of course you are. And I know you'd do the same for me." She beamed up at him, so much love in her eyes it physically hurt Emma to look; still, it was as if she were in a trance, unable to shift her gaze, or move.

"Perhaps I would."

When he moved his head closer to Ava's and kissed her passionately, closing her eyes was all Emma could do not to scream again; she didn't open them until everything around her had been silent for an hour.

Later, when Emma had regained control over her breathing and was almost certain she'd be able to sleep, she walked back to her room but stopped at a sound. Someone called her name; it was a low murmur, not entirely audible, but she was almost positive she'd heard it - she turned around slowly, expecting someone to be there, only to find nothing except a small piece of parchment on the floor. There was writing on it, written very neatly;

'_There's not a day that will go by that I won't think of you'_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is the final part. Hopefully it didn't hurt too much!**

**(And this is a lot longer than the other ones, but it was necessary. Too much story to cram in 400 words!)**


	10. Red

**Red**

* * *

><p>"Swan, what are these?"<p>

"That would be my electric toothbrush as well as Henry's," Emma explained patiently as she watched Killian rummage through her bathroom cabinet with an excited look on his face – like a pirate hunting for treasure, if he'd still been a pirate that was.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she felt ridiculously happy observing Killian's facial expressions as he found one new thing after another; some he thought looked funny, others sounded funny, and the rest was just a big riddle.

"You know, love, I'll never understand this," he remarked as he opened a jar of her facial cream and smelled it, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards at the familiar scent.

"What, my moisturizer?" she grinned back.

"No," he answered as he put the container back in its place – and she could practically _hear_ his eye roll – and started looking for something else. "This need for all these things. It's preposterous."

"I happen to use everything you see in there, mister." She crossed her arms and leaned back a bit to enjoy her view as he bent down to open the cabinet underneath the sink, continuing his exploration.

"Is that so? Are you telling me this white, soft, small thing resembling a children's toy is something you use regularly?" He cocked one of his eyebrows at her – obviously pleased with being right – as he dangled his finding in front of her.

She stifled a laugh as she saw what he was holding up.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." She pushed her lips harder together in an attempt to hold back the smile that threatened to release itself.

"What in God's name can you use this for?"

"That is called a tampon. As you may know, women bleed once a month, and we use a tampon for that." She tried not to blush – she was a grown woman talking to her boyfriend for heaven's sake (and that her boyfriend happened to be Captain Hook from a children's story was a completely different matter).

"Use how?" he asked, frowning as he turned the tampon between his fingers, giving it a onceover.

"You put it up – Jesus, I can't believe I actually have to explain this to you." She dragged a hand over her face to hide her awkwardness; she peeked through her fingers to see him and noticed that he looked at her like an innocent puppy. She groaned. "You put it up in the same – um, _space_ – as when you have sex."

She removed her hand, red color on her cheeks, to find him beaming at her, standing close.  
>"You knew, didn't you?"<p>

"I knew," he agreed before kissing her, making her lose balance and fall into the bathtub with him on top of her. He smirked. "Let's see if I remember where that _space_ is, shall we?"

"You bastard," she laughed, unable to contain herself. "Tomorrow you're showing me how to tie a really strong knot. For your punishment," she added when she saw he was about to question.

"As you wish, love," he replied and kissed her again, a smile still on both their lips.

(He remembered where it was – and two more times later that night).

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to Nouqueret for the wonderful idea! Super fun to write :)**


	11. Baking

**Baking**

* * *

><p>"I baked," he stated proudly when she came home one very cold November evening in a foul mood, because <em>someone<em> (she wouldn't say who) had forgotten to open their front door so their dog, Lumière, could get in so_someone_ called Emma to solve the ridiculous emergency. It was freezing outside, and _someone_ claimed it was her job to search alone – with David having the night off to have a romantic dinner with Mary Margaret – so this_someone_ just went home to have dinner with Belle, who had no idea their dog was missing of course, since he told her a friendly neighbor was out walking it; Emma really liked Belle, but dear God that woman was naïve sometimes.

So when Emma came home to her kitchen being covered in flour, ice cold and extremely tired after the two hours it took her to find the damn dog, the only thing she could do was laugh – hysterically. Killian came over to her thinking something was wrong because she never just burst out into laughter for no reason, and she saw what he was wearing; Mary Margaret's old apron, tied neatly around his waist. The sight only brought on another fit of laughter, and she had to sit down on the couch in order to get some air into her lungs.

"Love, what – ?" Killian wondered, watching her with a frown. She lifted up her hand to say she needed a moment, managing to get out an order for him to leave her sight; reluctantly, he left.

It took her a while – well over ten minutes – but when she had calmed down, positive she wouldn't start again when she saw him, she went over to the kitchen where he waited patiently.

"I'm sorry, I had a crappy night so when I saw you, I just had emotional overload," she explained, giving her kitchen a survey, certain all damages could be repaired with an hour of intense cleaning. Her eyes landed on a cake that stood on the counter. "Did you – "

She froze as she came up right in front of the cake when she noticed there was writing on it.

_Marry me._

In the corner of her eye she saw him shrugging. "Just experimenting with some frosting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? In that case, you missed some." She reached over to drag a finger over his flour-covered cheek, grinning.

For a second, he watched her before he started to chase her around the apartment and landed on top of her in the bed moments later.

"My, my captain. You could've just asked," Emma said, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. He grinned, before kissing her senseless and suddenly she had no memory of ever being cold.

They ate the cake in bed later, and she was truly impressed at how delicious it was. When she cut the last piece, the knife was met by something hard, so she dug her fingers in there to get it out; it was a ring.

Saying yes felt like the most natural thing in the world, laughing from sheer happiness as he slid it on her finger, promising her forever.


	12. A green-eyed monster

**A green-eyed monster**

* * *

><p>"I am not apologizing to her."<p>

"Then I am doing it for you." Killian leaned over the counter as he chewed his potato with a stubbornness that should not be physically possible to show when eating, so Emma crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to back down – she stood on the other side of the counter, not getting closer because then he'd affect her like he always did, both intentional and unintentional.

"You most certainly are NOT!"

They glared at each other, eyes filled with fire.

"Emma, Killian, what are you shouting about?" David wondered as he entered the apartment with Mary Margaret in tow. "We could hear you from down the street. And why are you eating here, I thought you were supposed to go out for dinner?"

Neither of them responded.

"Killian," David said – not a question, but an order. Killian sighed.

"Emma poured her soup over the waitress that was serving us," he explained, not looking away from Emma as he spoke.

"She deserved it," she added quickly.

"She did not!"

"Did too," Emma childishly replied, and stuck out her tongue while she was at it, at which Killian rolled his eyes before leaning further over the counter to touch her cheek, and said, "Emma, tell them why she deserved it please."

She blew out a wide breath through her nostrils, looking from Killian to her parents, and then back again.

"She was flirting with him," she sneered after a few seconds and gestured wildly with her arms, clearly very angry about what had happened; a moment of silence fell before David started roaring with laughter – even Mary Margaret tilted the corners of her mouth upwards, but was kind enough to hold it in.

"This isn't –" Emma grunted.

"This is endearing, that's what it is," Mary Margaret cut in. Both Emma and Killian turned their heads towards her instantly, looking at her like she was a lunatic, and she smiled. "I'm just so happy you've finally found a man you love this much." Not waiting for a reply or a reaction, she took David's hand and led him out from the apartment again, with David protesting loudly all the way down the stairs ("But it was just getting to the funny part!")

When they were left alone, Emma sensed the panic rising in her chest and closed her eyes to take a deep breath – and felt a hand covering hers, squeezing gently.

"You don't have to apologize to her, love." He paused. "And I do too."

"I know," she responded quietly, not questioning what he was talking about or clarifying what she was referring to because they both knew.

—-

Emma shuffled in behind Killian as they entered the restaurant they'd been at the night before; she had lost her bad mood somewhere after her third orgasm and the first time she said I love you and felt like it didn't have to be the end but the start of something lasting a very long time – maybe forever.

(_Apparently her sappy romantic side had woken up during the night_).

(_Dear God, she was turning into her mother, the fairy tale character_).

So when she saw the waitress preparing tables, she walked straight up to her, feeling ridiculous about what she'd done.

"I'm sorry for what I did, Mandy."

Mandy met her eyes, and they were filled with warmth as she gave a soft smile. "I know you are. But I ain't ever waiting on your table again, honey."

"Good," she grinned back, and left the restaurant with Killian's finger intertwined with hers.

Yes, this was most certainly for a very long time – forever, _or longer_.


	13. The boy and the lion

_**A/N: This is Outlaw Queen, meaning Regina and Robin. **_

* * *

><p><strong>The boy and the lion<strong>

* * *

><p>It was the scream of a little boy that caught Regina's attention faster than anyone could say Evil Queen. The sound pierced right through her heart and instantly took her back almost ten years, when Henry had fallen over on his tricycle and cried for over twenty minutes, when he had lost his first tooth and thought he'd never get it back, when he ate his ice cream too fast and got a brain freeze, or when he ran straight into an open cabinet and had to get two stitches right under his hairline.<p>

Acting on instinct, she ran until she reached the source of the cry – and fell in love at first sight; the little boy had brown hair that curled around his face, eyelashes longer than she'd ever seen on a child and dimples anyone would want to drown in. This only took a second for her to register because then she heard something sounding like a howl and looked up to see the creature that had attacked her and Snow the other day.

She took a giant leap forward to stand in front of the child so that she put herself in the line of fire instead; the animal growled disapprovingly and turned around to leave.

"Oh no you don't!" The fireball left her hands and was met by a shriek of pain when the creature got hit.

To the right of her head, an arrow flew by and hit its mark and of course it had to be the forest man. The animal fell to the ground with a loud thump and lay lifeless. Unfortunately, the little boy had obviously seen a bit too much and started crying, and _he_ rushed forward.

"Roland!" He picked up the one who was obviously his son and squeezed him hard. Hood met Regina's eyes and raised his voice over the sound of his crying child. "Thank you."

Ignoring the sensation in her stomach – because really, she was a queen and worked wonders with magic and she absolutely did not get reactions like this to ordinary, merry men who lived in a forest – she went over to the animal, which she now saw had to be a monkey that somehow had grown wings, and waved her hands over it. A small and cute teddy bear version of the ugly monkey replaced the animal; she bent over to pick it up and slowly approached Roland. She disregarded the burning gaze his father had.

"Here you go, honey." She reached out to give him the stuffed animal and was happy to see he'd stopped crying. "It's not dangerous anymore, I promise."

Hesitantly the boy accepted the gift and when he touched it a smile spread across his face; you'd never known he was crying ten seconds earlier. Somewhat relieved, Hood put his son down on the ground and reached out his right hand for her to shake.

"Thank you."

But Regina didn't listen. She didn't even get to say her snide remark about not wanting to touch the forest because there could be parasites. All she saw was a lion tattoo and heard Tinker Bell's words ring in her ears.

_''Why couldn't you just go through that door and meet your soul mate? Was being happy such a terrible fate?"_

She refused to touch him and went deeper into the forest in order to clear her head. Her True Love was Robin Hood. Great. Just great.


	14. A fitting punishment

**A fitting punishment**

* * *

><p>"Did you or did you not do it?"<p>

"Frankly, I'm a little bit insulted that you'd even ask – " Killian visibly shrunk in his chair and went silent instantly as he met Emma's furious gaze.

"Okay, I'm only going to ask you one more time. Did you do it?" Emma crossed her arms over her chest to keep from punching someone – anyone.

"It was his idea," he said in a pathetic voice and pointed over at Robin. Robin, obviously feeling someone watching him, turned around. When he saw Emma and Killian he groaned.

"You're weak, Killian."

"There are few things as scary as the wrath of a woman," Killian replied with a shrug.

Last night he and Robin had been out sharing a drink along with David at Granny's diner when one of them – not that they could remember who – had thought it to be a brilliant idea to do some classic pranks to some of the residents in Storybrooke after they had finished their seventh beer. They threw toilet paper on Archie's, Rumpelstiltskin's and Philip and Aurora's house – houses that conveniently lay just next to each other – for three hours until they thought it was enough and went home to bed. When Emma got an urgent call this morning, Killian had almost forgotten everything and was still half asleep when she wondered what the hell they'd done last night.

The corner of Emma's mouth went up as she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Regina's number.

"This is going to be fun," she told Robin; he groaned again. When Killian let out a small laugh, Emma turned her head fast, "Don't think I'm even half way done with you."

Five minutes later Regina entered Granny's diner and furiously spoke in almost the same beat as her heels hit the floor. "How old are you, Robin? Toilet paper? _Really_?" She stopped right in front of the booth he sat in. "This is embaressing, and illegal no less and – "

"Nobody is arresting us," he intervened quickly. "They weren't even mad."

"Oh, so that's makes it okay? Everyone can just run around and do things that's not allowed, because if nobody is pressing charges it doesn't matter?"

"Well, no, not exactly – "

"You're damn right, not exactly. _Nobody was mad_," she mimicked, shaking her head at how idiotic this entire situation was, as she turned over to Emma. "Have you thought of a fitting punishment yet?"

"Working on it." Emma finished her notes and watched her boyfriend, her father and her friend with a frown.

(David had already gotten an earful from Mary Margaret, _twice_.)

"In that case, I have the perfect idea," Regina said and leaned in to whisper in Emma's ear; both Killian and Robin tried to overhear (in vain). When Regina had finished telling Emma her plan, Emma burst out laughing and three men all looked at each other with equal expressions: fear.

* * *

><p>"Are you pleased with your service today?" Killian obidiently asked when he was finished with his job.<p>

"Yes, thank you my boy!" Mrs. Potts beamed and squeezed Killian's cheeks hard. "And that is an endearing outfit." She slipped him an extra twenty dollars into the belt of the skirt he was wearing and it was through much struggle he kept on smiling until he was outside on the sidewalk where David waited.

Robin came out from the house next to Mrs. Potts, wearing the exact same outfit as Killian and David; a classic maid uniform suited for cleaning everyone's houses in town.

"Never going to piss of the former Evil queen again," Robin muttered grumpily, swinging his feather-duster in the air.

"Good luck with that, mate," Killian replied with a pat on his shoulder. "But next time, we should keep it low key."

Intrigued, David's eyes widened. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Well, I saw this comedy on the TV where they put some see through material on the toilet and – "

"And when someone tries to use the loo, the pee goes everywhere!" Robin finished, quickly getting enthusiastic about the idea. All three of them had a smile on their lips as they rang the next house they were supposed to clean.

From afar, Emma and Regina watched them.

"Should we stop them?" Emma wondered as the disappeared inside.

"No, it's more fun this way. Now we get a good laugh at their silly pranks _and_ we get to punish them."

"You're right. Next week I'm showing Killian Ghostbusters. I can't wait to see what they'll make out of that one."


	15. Emma's Angels

**Emma's Angels**

* * *

><p>Music began playing, and Emma groaned.<p>

"You're up, love," Killian said from another room.

"Is this really necessary every time you guys enter a room together?"

"Of course, milady!" Robin exclaimed. She could practically see their smirks.

"C'mon Emma, just like we rehearsed," her father almost begged. She groaned again; beside her Mary Margaret stifled a laughter while Regina just rolled her eyes.

"This is the last time. I refuse to do it anymore after this," she insisted before starting to say her lines. "Once upon a time, there were three little girls – "

"Emma!"

"Fine." She grinned at Regina and her mother before continuing. "Once upon a time, there were three large and muscular men who went to the police academy and they were each assigned very hazardous duties." She dragged a hand through her hair and cursed whoever let them watch the television show she'd now forever despise. "Do I have to say everything?"

"Yes!" came all three voices in chorus.

"Fine," she said again and took a large gulp of her beer. "But I took them away from all that and now they work for me. My name is Charlie – uh, no I mean Emma."

Just as she'd said her name, they all walked into the living room in different poses pretending to carry a gun. They stopped in front of the sofa where Emma, Regina and Mary Margaret sat and held their practiced pose standing next to each other for a few minutes.

"I wonder how long that'll still be cool," David grinned, clapping both Killian and Robin on their shoulders before sitting down in a chair; Killian sat down on the edge of the sofa right next to Emma while Robin seemed satisfied to be on the floor.

"It never was," Emma informed them. They all huffed indignantly. "And by the way, who the hell let you watch that show in the first place?"

All eyes turned to Regina.

"Seriously?" Emma wondered, eyebrows slightly raised.

"To my defense, I was showing Henry and Roland when these three idiots came in."

Killian shrugged and poked Emma in her ribs. "You might as well admit it. You love it."

"I really don't."

"I do!" came Henry's voice from the stairs. Apparently he had been watching the whole ordeal. "That was the best thing EVER!"

Emma, Regina and Mary Margaret groaned in unison; they were never getting their men to stop being Emma's Angels now.

As the men rose to repeat their little show again for Henry and Roland, Emma lowered her voice.

"I say we give them two more weeks, then it's time to bring in the big guns."

"What's that?" Mary Margaret wondered, probably picturing a horrific turn of events with giant weapons.

Emma grinned before she spoke. "We sic Granny on them."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This was inspired by Sean Maguire's Twitter pic featuring him, Josh and Colin posing as Charlie's Angels. And also, Emma's lines that the guys wants her to say is from season 1 of the original Charlie's Angels. :)**


	16. Cold feet

**Cold feet**

* * *

><p>He tried to take a deep breath, but it was shaky – everything about him was shaky this day. He tried to calm himself by readjusting his suit, but to no avail.<p>

"Nervous?" came David's voice as he entered the captain's quarters where Killian was getting ready for his and Emma's wedding.

"Me? Never." He cursed internally; he couldn't even fool himself.

"I can see that." David sat down on the bed right next to where Killian stood, watching himself in a large mirror. "Why are you nervous?"

Meeting David's eyes in the reflecting glass, Killian sighed. "I'm waiting for the moment where I wake up. Or the moment she realizes she doesn't love me –" He paused, scratched himself behind his ear. "Both are the same thing, I guess."

To his great surprise, David actually laughed.

"Believe me, that'll never happen, Killian." He sounded so confident Killian almost believed him. "First, I've seen the way she looks at you. Trust me when I say she's not going anywhere. Second, you're just experiencing some cold feet."

"My feet are just as warm as always, actually," Killian said, frowning and looking down at the black shoes he wore because Emma had thought he looked dashing in them – her own words. How anyone could look _dashing_ in a pair of shoes were beyond him.

Shaking his head, David laughed again. "It's just a saying. It means you're nervous right before you are about to get married." He fixed his eyes on Killian's through the mirror. "_Forever_, because if you think I'm letting you – "

"Woah, woah, where exactly would I be going?" he said, exasperated, turning around to face David.

David chuckled. "Just testing you." He bent down to pick up a white handkerchief Killian had thrown on the floor earlier when he lost his patience trying to understand where to put it; David got up and placed it in Killian's chest pocket of his suit. "Now come on, let's get you married."

In front of Emma's close family – and now Killian's – they got married on board the Jolly Roger, the sun shining so bright it was like it gave them a blessing of some sort and as Killian said 'I do', he met Emma's joyful eyes and wondered why he'd been nervous at all.


	17. I love you

_A/N: From a prompt at tumblr that went "Regina says "I love you" to Robin first in EF. He says it first in SB."_

* * *

><p><span><strong>I love you<strong>

* * *

><p>"I love you." She blurted it out accidentally, not thinking about the words that left her mouth until it was too late and he was already staring at her, frozen where he stood in the castle garden.<p>

"You – what?"

Panic started to form inside her before she decided to not flee in fear. She was a grown woman that had cursed an entire land and she was most certainly not afraid to own up to her feelings.

"Did I stutter?" She tried to keep a calm tone, mostly because that way he wouldn't know anything was wrong when (_if_) he didn't say it back. Or so she hoped. Her heart beat faster and harder against her chest.

"No. Excuse me, I'm just surprised. I love you too, of course, but I wasn't expecting – "

She turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "You do?"

"I do what?" He frowned.

"Love me?"

"Naturally," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. She laughed.

"Then what the hell are you doing all the way over there instead of kissing me?"

* * *

><p>"I love you, Regina."<p>

She froze. _No, no, no, no, no_, she started to chant inside. The curse still wasn't broken, what if they had known each other in the missing year? She'd seen his tattoo, and she wasn't stupid. But what if they got their memories back and it would turn out she had treated him awful? He probably wouldn't want to stick around with his son any longer than he could say Evil Queen.

She felt his gaze on him as she moved again, picking up the apple she'd dropped in the grass in her backyard.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

She turned around. "I think that's very nice of you to say. I'm just afraid – "

He rolled his eyes even before she had finished speaking. "Regina, you were the Evil Queen. I know what you've done."

She bit her lower lip. "Not in our missing year."

"I've seen you since we got here, watching Henry without being able to tell him. I imagine without even seeing him, you'd be in an even worse state and probably not capable of any evil planning."

It was so simple. Of course he was right, just as he always were. Of course he understood her better than she did herself, just as he always did.

She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. "I love you too, Robin."

* * *

><p>A wave of magic went through Storybrooke and just like that, the curse was broken when Emma kissed Hook. It only took a few moments more until Storybrooke was gone again and they were back in the Enchanted forest – even Henry able to come back with them, thanks to Emma and her creative ideas.<p>

Memories of the year they'd forgotten came to everyone at once and after she'd hugged Henry so hard he almost couldn't breathe she went to find Robin. When she did, they stared at each other.

"I love you," they said in unison, before starting to laugh. It didn't matter who said it first, all that mattered was that they _did_ love each other and would do so until the very end.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I hope nobody missed the little Harry Potter quote I sneaked in right at the very end. I keep hearing Sirius voice in my head saying it, but it still felt like a fitting way to end this little story. :)_


	18. The Swan

_A/N: Based on spoilers about this seasons last episode. I just couldn't resist._

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Swan<strong>

* * *

><p>"Ready to head back?" Emma wondered as she saw Killian looking through the window at Granny's diner for the fifth time in less than two minutes.<p>

Before answering, he looked outside again. "Now would be the perfect time."

Frowning at him, she placed some bills on the table to pay for their drinks, put her arms through her leather jacket and headed outside with Killian in tow. When she got to the sidewalk and took a right she noticed Killian stood still right outside Granny's, gazing up at the sky.

"Come here, Swan," he called out, reaching out his good arm to take her hand in his. Still confused about his behavior, she intertwined her fingers with his. "Look," he said and pointed at some stars with his hook.

"What am I looking at?"

"That constellation is called Cygnus, which is a foreign word for swan. Have you ever heard the tale about Cygnus?" When she shook her head, he began telling her the story; he kept looking up, flicking his eyes towards here every now and then as he spoke. "It tells the story of how the God Zeus saw a woman named Leda swim in a pond and fell in love with her at first sight. He disguised himself as a swan in order to seduce Leda, and apparently it worked. Leda, unfortunately, was already married to a king."

"I have two questions," Emma said after a moment when it became clear he had finished his short story. "How do you know about Zeus?"

"The great gods is well-known through all realms," he answered simply with a small shrug.

"I see. And what happened to Zeus and Leda?"

He grinned. "You're quite weak when it comes to love stories, lass." He touched her hair affectionately with his hook. "Leda went back to her husband and spent a lovely night with him as well, and a while later she had four children, two from each man. As a memory of their love, Zeus put Cygnus on the sky."

"That's so sad."

"Aye," he said and turned away from the sky to face her. "I'd like to change the meaning of Cygnus."

"Change?" she asked, frowning again. She didn't like it when she wasn't sure what he was up to – which, fortunately, wasn't often anymore.

"Let's call it The Swan instead of Cygnus and have it be about our love and this evening."

"What about this evening?" she wondered in a shaky voice. Emma really didn't get nervous, mostly because she never had any reason to be, but now her heart started beating fast against her chest.

In front of her he went down on one knee and a small gasp escaped her lips at the same time as her hand flew up to her mouth. However, his first words weren't what she expected them to be at all. "Swan, do not panic," he said and she started laughing because he knew her _so_ well. "But I would be honored if you'd marry me."

She opened her mouth to answer him, to turn him down and say they were going too fast and that she'd had a chewing gum that lasted longer than their relationship, but nothing came out. Instead, she listened to the suddenly very even sound of her own heart, met his eyes and felt calmer than she'd ever done before, and found the word she'd been looking for.

"Yes."

And nothing had ever felt more right to say in her entire life.


	19. 90 and still kicking

_A/N: This is kind of weird and it just happened and I don't know how, but have Regina and Robin at a retirement home. _

* * *

><p><strong><span>90 and still kicking<span>**

* * *

><p>"You know, I was the Evil Queen once," Regina chatted as a nurse helped her get up from the bed. "Isn't that right, darling?" she added, turning her head slightly as to see Robin, who still lay down.<p>

"It sure is," he said cheerily to the nurse, who only smiled in return.

"You don't believe me," Regina stated, frowning at the young girl as she went to help Robin up as well.

"No, I'm sure you were the Evil Queen once, Regina," the nurse helpfully said, nodding even though there was a small smirk on her face.

"Oh I'll show you Evil Queen," Regina replied and started to roll up the sleeves of her robe.

Robin sighed. "Must you?"

"If she thinks I'm taking her shit for one more second – "

"Can you at least wait until she finishes helping me out?" Robin asked and the nurse chimed in that that seemed like a reasonable idea.

"Yeah, yeah, don't lose your pants," Regina muttered, rolling her eyes; the nurse seemed somewhat amused by the whole ordeal but chose not to speak more than she already had. When Robin sat firmly in his wheelchair, Regina flicked her fingers and the nurse transformed into a caterpillar.

"Really, Regina?" Robin questioned, eyebrows raised. "That was the best you could think of? If you're going to keep casting spells on the nice people that wants to help us, at least be a little bit more creative."

After over 60 years of marriage, Robin had learnt exactly which buttons to push.

"I _was_ being creative! This week's theme is Wonderland," she said, somewhat offended.

He grinned despite himself. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But who do you suppose should give us our breakfast now?"

Regina took a deep breath. "Fine, you're right. But if she thinks she can undermine me and look at me like I'm some crazy lunatic, she is quite mistaken. And if she says another demeaning word, I'll shove that word so far up her – "

Robin raised his hands. "I get it, no need to go into details. Now please, I'm hungry."

* * *

><p><em>One hour later.<em>

"Hi mom, hi dad! How have you been since – MOM! Are you kidding me?!" Roland Hood said as she came into the dining room in the retirement home his parents were staying at. What he saw was Robin and Regina siting around a large table, surrounded by different characters from old Disney stories.

"Roland! So nice to – " Regina began, but Roland put up his hand to cut her off.

"Just because you _can_ transform everyone as soon as they do something that displeases you doesn't mean you should." He looked over at his father, who kept his gaze on his legs, clearly trying to hide his laughter. "You shouldn't laugh, papa."

"I'm sorry, Roland, but it's funny! And she always returns them to their original state with no permanent damage."

"That makes it all better," Roland answered, rolling his eyes in just the same way as Regina always did – it was eerie; even though they weren't related by blood Roland still acted like Regina would in most situations. "This is just a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Oh hush, don't go big city lawyer on us." She flicked her fingers, and suddenly the room was filled with laughter and talking again. "Now roll us into our room and I'll tell you about the time I tried to kill aunt Snow."

"Which time?"


	20. True love and all that

_A/N: Prompt on tumblr, "forehead kisses. Killian is asleep (or at least pretending to be) when Emma does this."_

* * *

><p><span><strong>True love and all that<strong>

* * *

><p>When Emma woke up it was pitch black and she knew it had to be in the middle of the night because she was far from rested. Granted, she<em>was<em> sleep deprived since in the past two weeks she and Regina had defeated the Wicked Witch, she'd found out Killian was her True love, which was closely followed by her and Killian traveling back in time to when her parents met, only for them to spend their entire time in the past trying to avoid changing the future and get back to the present. To put it mildly, it had been exhausting.

The arm that was curled around her waist hardened its grip. She smiled despite herself and turned around in Killian's embrace to face him; he was fast asleep, his breathing heavy as every breath lightly blew across her face.

True love. She supposed it was rather nice knowing it for sure – which was not to say she hadn't had a few panic attacks since she found out. One that very day, actually, when they'd been spread out on the couch together, watching a movie and she'd suddenly been hit by the realization that he'd die one day and what if something kept them apart and what if it was all just a trick from another big bad evil, or what if he was under some sort of spell to make him think he was in love with her, because why would anyone stay, people always left –

Killian had calmed her down by simply giving her a tight hug, all his love and promises transferred by a simple touch.

She watched his profile in the dark room and her heart fluttered (actually_fluttered_) in her chest at the thought that he might truly love her. Acting on instinct she did as she had to Henry in the fake memories Regina had given her and stretched up to press a feather light kiss to Killian's forehead.

"I knew you were a gooey romantic," came Killian's sleepy voice just as her lips touched him. Startled, she started to move away from him – she'd been so sure he was asleep, but of course he had to fake it that low-life son of a –

"Love, if you think any harder you might break something," he said when there was a flutter in the lights and she took a deep breath. "Go back to sleep, I'll still be here in the morning." He wrapped his arms around her again since she'd managed to release herself and pulled her close. That was another perk with love, she guessed, or at least their love. No matter what she said or did, he always knew what she meant.

"I promise," he added and kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek there.

"You can be really insufferable sometimes, Killian," she remarked with a yawn after a few minutes of silence. A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest and she pressed herself nearer even though she was still as close as she could possibly get.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice revealing that he was almost sleeping again, and she fell asleep to the soothing gesture of his hand moving in circles on her back, promising her a lifetime.

(The next day, she woke up to find him with his lips firmly pressed against her forehead, still sleeping, and she realized she wasn't sure why she'd even had any doubts at all).


	21. Five times of holding hands

_A/N edited: I love how this story was called "Five hands of holding hands" for more than 24 hours and everyone is so nice so nobody comments on it. Love everyone who takes time to read, xoxo_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Five times of holding hands<strong>

* * *

><p>Holding hands has always been a very intimate thing for Emma. She's not sure exactly why, but to her that gesture is a sign of trust – a sign of something she's been having trouble with all her life.<p>

The first time she reaches out for his hand is when she's sleeping next to him, less than two months after he brought her back to Storybrooke. The warm touch of his fingers curling around hers wakes her up enough from her nightmare for the panic to rise in her chest. She moves away from him, afraid of her nightmare coming true – in her dream Zelena had decided to come after him in order to draw out Emma and Regina, and he had been killed by Zelena crushing his heart.

She wakes the next morning to find that he has crawled after her in his sleep, both arms winded around her waist as if to keep her from ever leaving.

She can't hold back a smile as she drifts back into a blissful morning nap.

The second time she reaches out for him, he's about to get hit by a powerful spell sent by Zelena across the town square. Needless to say, she's furious with him for not thinking twice before walking across an open space like that with no way to protect himself and grabs his hand with much more force than necessary. When she's calm again he squeezes her hand gently – only then does she realize that she hasn't let go yet – and tilts his head to look at her.

"I'm sorry, lass."

She doesn't tell him she was only mad at herself for placing him in danger in the first place; she doesn't have to, she knows he understands. She squeezes back.

The third time she grabs his hand it's to plead with him to take Henry; he's afraid for her safety, he tells her, and even though he rather enjoys the company of her son he's afraid to let her out of his sight.

She sighs and takes his hand in a firm grips between both of hers, determined to keep Killian away from the fight. "I need you to do this for me."

"Your mother is well equipped for taking care of more than one child at a time," he says easily and she can't claim that he's wrong.

She's afraid to tell him of Zelena's threat on his life and she's all out of arguments for him to stay away. He brushes his thumb along the side of her hand and she tries to make a memory of the contact, hoping it won't be their last.

The fourth time she takes his hand in hers, he's under a sleeping curse. Of course she should've known Zelena wouldn't just go around making empty promises to take someone's life – that Zelena would come and claim what she set out to.

When he's lying still in a hospital bed, it's easier to say things she should've told him before. Like how she wishes he'd come back to her, or how she would stop being so stubborn, or how she actually might feel something strong for him and how that scares her.

Even though Henry still doesn't have his memories, it's he who suggests Emma should try waking the unconscious leather dressed one handed man with a kiss; she can't be sure if her son is serious or joking, but she agrees. She doesn't tell anyone the reason she hadn't tried before and knows she needs him back because he would be the only one to understand why she hadn't.

The moment before her lips touches his she thinks, _Please come back to me_, and when he opens his eyes a few seconds later she can't stop the tears of joy.

The fifth time she intertwines her fingers with his, they're walking down Main street and there is no danger in sight, no nightmares, no doubts; she just does it because she feels like it.


	22. People always leave

_A/N: Based on what happened in the new episode, "The Jolly Roger". I blame A&E for this._

* * *

><p><span><strong>People always leave<strong>

* * *

><p>He's pulling away from her.<p>

She can tell just by looking at how he avoids her gaze, or at how he keeps a few feet between them at all times, or by looking at his body language when she's close to him. She's not sure what makes her do it – maybe she thought he was playing some kind of game with her to make her come after him for a change, maybe just to see how he'd react, maybe just to touch him – but something gives her the courage to do it, no matter what it is.

She knocks on the door to his room gently, and tries not to flinch at the awful look on his face filled with despair, anger and sadness as he slowly open up. _Why?_ she wonders silently in her mind.

When he doesn't say anything nor offers to let her in but instead continues to block the entry with his body she sighs at the _oh-so-discrete_ signal that she should leave. Not that she is planning to anyway. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

No answer.

"Henry asked where you were today. Again."

Pain flashes across his face, but he stays silent.

"It's been two weeks and it's scaring us. It's scaring _me_."

He closes his eyes, probably so she doesn't see how they're starting to water, but she already saw and it made her hurt with him, no matter the reason.

After a few excruciating heartbeats she takes a step closer to him, places her hand on his chest and starts to lean in for a kiss even as he keeps his eyes everywhere else but on her. A simple kiss to let him know she's not going anywhere. To let him know that she's there for him.

When their lips are so close she can feel his shaky breathing on her face, their noses touching, his stubble scratching her cheek, his fingers twisting in her hair, her hand closed in a hard grip around his necklace – he moves away from her with no warning. It only takes a second for her to feel empty and cold, even as she meets his gaze and sees his face is scrunched up in ache; with panic in her chest she starts to back away, to leave the diner, to leave reality, to leave _him_.

"Emma, I – " he tries, reaching out even though it's clear he doesn't really want to. Doesn't dare to.

"He speaks!" she mocks, and she hates herself and she hates him and she hates everything. "Use words with the next girl and maybe you don't have to put yourself through the pain of having to turn down a kiss at the ladt second." She spits the words at him, angry with him for managing to get past her walls and making a u-turn just as she started to reach out. "This is – no." Shaking her head, tears almost out, she flees before he gets another chance to speak.

Ironically, she escapes to the harbor where she stays until its dark outside and a numbness has spread in her body.

People always leave.


	23. The Charmings vs IKEA

_A/N: thanks to Angels-heart1 here on ff . net for giving me the idea :)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Charmings vs IKEA<strong>

* * *

><p>"I've seen enemy battle plans that were easier to decode," David sighed as he gave the instructions another onceover. Killian chuckled beside him.<p>

"Perhaps someone of more expertise and endurance needs to give it a go," he said, grinning as he snatched the manual from his friend's hand.

"Or maybe someone of better looks can do it," David replied and yanked it back again, smiling just as much as Killian.

"Perhaps – " Killian began, making Emma put up her hands for them to be quiet, resisting her urge to raise her voice like they were two children that didn't know how to play nice (even though they practically were).

"_Neither _of you can do this, which we've witnessed in the past two hours. Can I see it?" She reached out her hand and waited for her father to hand it over, which he reluctantly did after a few looks exchanged with his wife, who sat in an armchair overseeing the work (meaning she was not allowed near any tools at all because she was surprisingly horrendous at holding a hammer in her hand, given how great of an archer she was).

As Emma looked it over – trying to make sense of the poorly drawn pictures of where to put the screws and sticks in order to make a crib – the men whispered meagre insults at each other, such as coward, chicken breasted wimp, golden goose and farm boy.

She was just about to tell them to shut up when Henry laughed from his spot by the kitchen counter, obviously having overheard the sandbox fighting from the grown-ups.

Beaming, Charming turned to Emma and said, "See, I can be just as cool and funny as Killian."

Killian gave him an indignant smile but said nothing as he slid his arm around Emma's waist, pulling her close.

"Any luck, love?"

"No, this is impossible to understand" she groaned, leaning in to put her forehead against his shoulder. She felt the breath of his quiet laugh on top of her head, which made her smile too.

"Isn't there some kind of number to call for help?" Mary Margaret wondered, trying to get up from her chair.

"Please sit down," David begged her. "It can't be good for the baby."

"I'm going to walk, David. Do you expect me to sit still for the rest of my pregnancy?"

"It might not be that much longer!"

"I might have to hold it in since the baby won't have a place to sleep!"

Tuning them out, Emma leaned further into Killian's embrace and took a few deep breaths. So this was what happiness felt like, she thought. She could get used to spending her weekends arguing about baby cribs, or what sandwiches to buy for lunch, or how many marshmallows her son could put in his mouth at the same time, or who could whisper_ I love you_ most times before they had to get up and eat breakfast. (Emma tended to lose by a single point, although it was not from a lack of trying. Killian liked to cheat by whispering it until she was a puddle of emotions and then claiming it was time to get up with a sheepish grin.)

"Guys!" Henry suddenly yelled at David and Mary Margaret, who went silent instantly to watch him with big eyes. "Do not let IKEA get to you. This is what putting furniture from IKEA together does to you." His face was solemn. "Relationships get broken."

"Jeez, dramatic." Emma rolled her eyes, grinning alongside Killian while Mary Margaret and David obviously tried to hold back their smiles.

"It's true," Henry shrugged with a mischievous grin before getting back to eating his spaghetti.

And with that, they all burst out laughing.

(Mary Margaret and David ended up buying a used crib instead that was already put together.)


	24. After midnight

**After midnight**

* * *

><p>"'s your turn," Emma slurs into the dark, reaching for Killian to wake him up. The only problem is that he's the hardest sleeper she's ever met, to the point where she once had to wake him by slamming casserole lids she fetched in the kitchen. Not that that's an option now, in the middle of the night.<p>

She moves closer to him where he's splayed out on his stomach, his face tilted towards her; he looks so cute she almost doesn't want to wake him up but remembers her tired limbs after an entire day in the woods searching for Prince John and the fact that it _is_ Killian's turn.

(John had shown up, asking for Robin's head on a platter before running out to the forest with a threat to take Roland. Not that Regina let him say another word once she found him and turned him into a rodent.)

She finds his ear with her mouth and whispers, "Please" as sweet as she can muster at three in the morning, kissing his earlobe and places a few kisses along his neck, but to no avail; he doesn't even seem to react to her touch.

_Touch._ She gets an idea, so with a smirk she coaxes her hand under him, with some effort, and moves down along his chest; he purrs in his sleep, like a content cat, so she continues along the trail of hair she can feel with her fingertips until she finds the waistline of his boxers. Trying not to snap it against his skin, she gently moves her fingers underneath the soft fabric and find what she's looking for; without so much as a how-do-you-do she takes a firm grip around him and squeezes.

He jolts awake instantly, almost flying out of the bed, his legs and arms flying all over the place as he tries to figure out what is going on. "What the – "

"Drastic times calls for drastic measures." She shrugs and points at the baby monitor on the bedside table, trying not to laugh at his sleepy and bemused expression. "It's your turn."

"Fine, love," he sighs as if it's the worst thing in the world but Emma knows he enjoys going in to their daughter in the middle of the night more than she does, how he sings her back to sleep with an old pirate song, or how he tells her simple tales from his life. "But since you're up, we might finish the job when I get back." He nods down to his crotch that's clearly awake, and Emma grins approvingly.

"Aye, aye Captain!" She salutes him as he leaves, and when he reaches their daughters room she can hear him over the baby monitor telling the story of how he fell in love with a pretty princess once, while climbing a bean stalk and being saved by her more than once.

Emma laughs at how silly he is – not that he's wrong. But it doesn't matter, because he's _her_ silly man.


	25. Guilt

**Guilt**

* * *

><p>"It's not your fault, Killian," Emma says into the darkness of her bedroom, feeling the empty space beside her that should be occupied by him.<p>

"Feels like it," he replies from where he stands by the window; she sees his gaze reflected in the moonlight but she doesn't have to see it to know it's far off, deep inside his mind.

"Henry is okay, you know."

He twirls around – his loose sweatpants following the movement a second after – and meets her gaze with a pained expression. "But what if he _hadn't_ been?"

She shrugs from where she's lying down. "Moot point, because that's not how it went down." She lifts up the cover to invite him in. "Please, come back to bed."

He hesitates for a moment before climbing in next to her, back facing her, and she easily throws her arm over his chest and squeezes hard.

"It's never your fault when some psychotic lunatic curses you and then kidnaps a child. Remember that," she murmurs into his ear before bursting out in a grin. "Besides, it's not like she stood a chance against True love's kiss, three magicians and four pissed off warriors really wanting to kick some green ass."

She sees him grin as well. "True."

"I admit, if we hadn't gotten Gold's dagger it might've been trickier but there's no point in worrying about that now, right?"

"Right."

"Which is the same thing because if we hadn't saved Henry in time – "

"You're right," he interrupts and turns around to face her. "But the guilt won't vanish in a few days."

"You're right," she repeats. "But I won't stop reminding you there's nothing to be guilty about."

"Agreed," he says as he places a soft kiss on her forehead, before wrapping his arms around her and putting his chin on top of her head. "Let's sleep."

She agrees.

(It takes two weeks for him to fully lose the sense of guilt for not telling everyone about his curse and what he thinks was putting Henry in harm's way.)

(It takes another two for him to stop waking up in the middle of the night, dreaming of Zelena coming to get Henry, or Emma leaving. She's always there when he wakes up, and all of her own doubts gets washed away every single time she meets his eyes in the moonlit room.)


	26. Breathe

_A/N: I got a prompt at tumblr to write a "Look who's talking" CS AU, but I've never actually seen that movie (horrific, I know!) so I did my best._

* * *

><p><span><strong>Breathe<strong>

* * *

><p>When Emma learned she was pregnant she was furious; furious with herself, with that stupid guy from two weeks earlier that she didn't even remember the name of, furious with the world for so obviously being out to get her, and it wasn't until she baby first kicked that she started to get excited – only a little bit at first, growing every day just as her stomach grew wider and bigger until she one day bent down to pick up yoghurt and her water broke at aisle five inside a freaking Walmart, of <em>all<em> the places in the world.

Since she was alone (just as always), she calmly went outside after apologizing to the poor guy who had to clean the floor. She called for a cab and prayed to whatever God there was that she wouldn't have her baby in the backseat of an old taxi that hadn't been cleaned since 1983.

Not having much of a choice, she clumsily climbed in the backseat of the first one that pulled over.

"Seabrooke Memorial Hospital." The driver eyed her with a raised eyebrow, taking in all of her, including the giant stomach and sweaty face; it felt like he was watching her forever, until it should've been bordering creepy, but it wasn't. "Jesus, can you drive before – " A blinding pain hit her and she couldn't stop herself from screaming out loud; the driver instantly pressed the gas.

"Deep breaths, love, deep breaths," he said, turning his head every second to check on her and Emma felt like ripping it off right then and there.

"You're not helping you moron!" she shouted through the pain, even though he actually did – and it didn't matter what she said because he seemed to get it, to get _her_, and continued to tell her how to breathe all the way down to the hospital, where he got out of the cab, got her inside _and_ managed to get her to a room quicker than she could tell him he was an idiot. (Even though he really weren't.)

She wasn't sure why, but when the man squeezed her hand during her contractions – and she squeezed back even harder – it felt nice, like a thing she could get used to, like something she wanted despite what she'd said all her life. Closeness. A family. Love.

Twelve hours later and after some sleep, she wandered the corridors alone until she found her newborn baby, sleeping blissfully surrounded by other infants, and when she laid eyes on him a feeling clenched around her heart that made her curse under her breath.

"You don't deserve my life, it's no good," she whispered against the glass, leaning her forehead against it. "I'm going to give you a family, and I promise you're going to feel love every single day of your life." She paused, closed her eyes and smiled to herself. "_Henry_."

"Lovely name," a voice said behind her and she knew that voice from somewhere, where –

She turned her head slightly, only to see that it was that same man, her rock, her driver, her calm, her _hero_. She stared at him for a moment, lost in thought, before murmuring a silent "Thank you," and he gave a small nod in response.

A silence fell between them as he came up to stand next to her, to hold her company as she watched her son sleep, and it felt strangely comfortable as their arms brushed against each other. Without a word, he intertwined his fingers with her and somehow, in the chaos that is life, she felt safer than she'd ever done as this stranger stroked his thumb up and down along her hand.

They stood there for twenty minutes, before he said, "By the way, my name is Killian."

She laughed. "My name is Emma."

"Fancy meeting you here, Emma." Her heart skipped a beat at his bright smile. "Perhaps I could take you out for coffee someday?"

She hummed approvingly. "I'd like that."


	27. Nickname

_A/N: From a prompt at tumblr! :)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Nickname<strong>

* * *

><p>They're in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner when she asks him to take out the trash; she knows he loathes doing it, but so does she and since she did most of the cooking she figures he owes her one.<p>

At first, he ignores her completely in favor of humming an old song as he clears the table from their wine glasses – she grins despite herself when she hears it's the theme from Disney's Peter Pan, which she'd forced him to watch a week earlier and he'd said it was the most horrendous thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. (Emma had known he was lying, but didn't call him out on it. She found it rather cute).

"You're ridiculous," she says instead because she knows it will cause him to crack a smile even though he probably doesn't want to; indeed, she hasn't even finished her thought before she sees the corner of his mouth go up.

"Perhaps," he agrees, teasing in his eyes as he dries a clean plate, holding it firmly in place with his left arm, a towel in his right hand.

"Please just take out the trash, _Killy_," she tries, changing her voice at his new nickname so that she sounds like a mother talking to her child, and she feels utterly absurd, but then –

Without another word, he puts down the plate, ties up the plastic bag, gives her a kiss on the cheek as he passes her and takes out the trash. She's left feeling very confused, but can't wait to explore this newfound power more.

It's only a few days later when she gives it another go because they're both _so_ full from an extravagant tea party at Regina and Robin's, which had been to celebrate the happy couples engagement. But now, Emma is craving water with every fiber of her being and she knows he's just as exhausted as she is, but she _really_ doesn't want to get up from the couch.

"Could you get me some water?"

He groans. "I'd go to the ends of the world for you, love, but right now I'm not going anywhere."

"Please, _Killy_."

He springs up immediately and returns seconds later with three bottles of water and gives her a light kiss. He's smiling when they part but Emma can see something else in his eyes, even though she's not sure what it is; she gazes at him over the bottle as she gulps down half the water quickly, a light frown on her face. She'd definitely have to try this again, if only to find out what went on inside his mind to give him that look.

A couple of weeks later, they're in bed when she tries again. She'd seen an article in a magazine a while back that had a thing she really wanted to try out in bed just because it seemed so absurd and impossible to do (she wasn't even sure she could bend that way), but Killian refused and she didn't press on the matter since it wasn't a big deal and she never wanted him to do anything he was uncomfortable with. But now –

She turns inside his embrace to put her lips on his ear, and whispers her request, making sure to end it sweetly with Killy. He nods without hesitation and starts to take off his pajama pants; she stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Why do you do that?" she asks, eyes firmly locked on his face.

He frowns. "I – what? – sorry, you've lost me."

"You do my bidding even though you don't want to, all I have to do is call you _Killy_."

He pauses for a few moments, as if he's not sure he's brave enough to tell her, or maybe just not brave enough to hear the words himself, and he looks at her, drags his hand through her hair. "My mother used to call me that before she died, when I was just a little lad." His mouth tilts upward a small bit, but it's not a real smile; the look in his eyes is back. She swears internally at herself for not asking sooner, for just assuming she was the only one of them with a crappy childhood even though she _knew_ his couldn't have been happy, and she feels her heart ache a little bit for the small boy, lost in the world without his mother. She vows to never call him that again unless he asks.

She pulls him towards her and gives him a kiss. "I'm sorry," she murmurs against his lips before kissing him again, hoping he feels the loves she needs him to have. That she needs them _both_ to have. He doesn't respond and she doesn't add anything else, so she wraps her arms around him firmly.

And she holds him a little bit tighter.


	28. Sappy

_A/N: The prompt was "Lap-pillow" and it just got fluffier from there. but i'm not even sorry, tbh_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sappy<strong>

* * *

><p>They're watching yet another version of Peter Pan – the crappy one with Wil Wheaton as John Darling – and she's trying her best to stay awake, she really is, but the movie is <em>so<em> boring and she hasn't slept well for the past few days, and before she knows it she's drifting off, her head landing lightly on his warm shoulder as she does.

When she wakes, it's darker in the room and the TV is off. She's lying with her head in his lap with no recollection of how she got down there.

"Awake, love?" he murmurs when he sees, and feels, her stir. She turns her head to look up at him, giving him a humming reply.

"'s nice," she slurs, rubbing her eyes. "I slept well."

"I'm glad," he smiles, combing his fingers through her hair that's splayed out on his legs. "My lap does offer a first class sleeping environment."

She grins. "Indeed."

And that's how it becomes a regular thing they do, and even though she had suspected an endless amount of innuendos from him – she's in his lap so there's at least ten different phrases that he could say according to a quick count in her head – he's surprisingly decent and never does anything of the sort.

(Okay, once maybe but it had been unconsciously done; she had woken up to the feel of something very hard pressed against her neck, taking a few moments for her to recognize what is was. He'd been fast asleep but had not complained at the method she used to wake him up.)

It's such a night a few months later where she's lying with her head in his lap, Love, Actually on the TV – he'd agreed to watching regular films as well, including but not limited to sappy romantic comedies which happens to be her guilty pleasure – when her favorite scene is about to come on. She's just going to tell him how great it is and how he really has to listen to every word because it's so beautiful when he mumbles something about getting a drink, rising before she has the time to say anything. Confused, she sits up on her knees to frown after him.

When her head pops up above the back of the sofa, he's just standing there with a large piece of paper in his hand, large writing on it that says "To me, you are perfect", written in his adorable handwriting.

Her heart swells to ten times its regular size, even as she laughs and tells him how completely ridiculous he is. With a grin, he approaches the sofa and wraps his arms around her waist.

"Anything for you, love."

She can tell he understands how completely corny and sappy it was, but she can also tell that he, just like she, doesn't care because it feels good and happy and _perfect_. When she smiles in reply, he gives her an easy kiss, their lips naturally fitted together like two puzzle pieces that shouldn't be parted for long.

And if her eyes are a filled with tears of joy when they part, well, that's between him and her.


	29. untitled (aka fluff)

_a/n: thank you to all those who regularly comments and brightens up my day (you guys know who you are). and thank you to all those that reads and comments and follows. i'd like to hug you all, but i can't so this will have to do. yay 100 followers to this collection!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>untitled (aka fluff)<strong>

* * *

><p>When she stands outside the apartment she can hear two muffled voices on the other side of the door – voices that without a doubt belong to Killian and her father.<p>

"You have a better chance of not making her pissed at us!" her father says in quick words, heavy breathing audible through the door.

"You're her bloody father! I'd say your chances are rather high as well," Killian responds just as urgently; her curiosity takes the best of her and she enters only to be met by two very suspecting looking faces. She raises her eyebrows, no question needed.

"It was his idea," the men say simultaneously, pointing at each other. She sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest, wondering what kind of ruckus they've been up to this time.

(Only last week, they'd been caught in the back parking lot of Granny's trying out the old lady's crossbow with very little success; they punctured three tires and destroyed a wind shield. Robin had laughed until tears ran by the time Emma, as a sheriff, got there.)

She opens her mouth to ask them what the hell they're talking about when there's a soft whine from behind the kitchen counter; ignoring her father and Killian's pained expressions, she walks around the bar and sees a small basket with three puppies in it. They all try to bark at the same time when they see Emma and her heart just melts as she sees their excited eyes, flurry ears flapping around their heads, tails wiggling back and forth quickly – she composes herself the best she can before she turns to face two of the men in her life that insists on causing trouble wherever they go.

(She does not find it an adorable or amusing trait at all. Nope.)

Instead of judging, she decides it's best to see what the plan was and says, "You've just had a baby," to her father. He lights up at the mention of his only son, and the smile warms her heart.

"Which is why now is the perfect time to bring another member to the family."

"You can't have three dogs, and I highly doubt Mary Margaret will agree to it."

"I'm just taking one," he grins, eyes flicking over to Killian.

(She might get tingles in her entire body at the prospect of owning a dog.)

"Two dogs?" is the only words her mouth seems to be able to form at the moment. Killian meets her eyes, and the smile that touches his lips tells her he knows what she's feeling.

"Just one, love. I reckon Roland might enjoy one as well." He pauses, as if to gauge her reaction.

(She's trying really hard not to jump up and down from enthusiasm.)

"Robin would love a charming little hound," he adds after a moment.

"Okay," she responds simply and squats to pick up one of the puppies; she picks the one that has the kindest eyes that does things to her heart and decides to call it Daisy and when she stands up again, Killian wraps an arm around her waist from behind and presses a kiss to her jaw – she does enjoy this new thing in her life that she once thought was just a myth: happiness.

(Henry agrees to the name Daisy, while David and Mary Margaret settles on Maggie for their little one. Roland gets to name his puppy; he calls it Bear.)


	30. tacos

**tacos**

* * *

><p>Emma should've listened more carefully, of course she should have. But he's so distracting with his sly grin, his lips easily trailing along her jaw up to her ear and then back again, his hand right <em>there<em>, doing things that feels so good it should probably be illegal – by the time her brain finally understands that the clatter of keys isn't her body breaking out of the raw pleasure of being with him, and that the thump of footsteps approaching isn't her mind playing bongo drums as she gets closer and closer to the edge, it is too late and the only thing she and Killian have time for before their visitors sees _everything_ is for him to move away quickly so that he sits next to her in what they both hope looks very casual.

"Mom! Killian! You've got to see – "

Henry comes running over to their large bed, stopping abruptly a few feet away when he sees them, and Emma curses the architect that thought it was a brilliant idea to build a cute little alcove for the bed and not a separate room.

(She also curses herself for forgetting that her son has keys to her and Killian's home, since _he lives_ there with them every other week when he isn't staying with Regina and Robin. She really shouldn't forget such an important thing, but she blames her loving pirate and his distracting lips.)

Before either of them can come up with anything to say that will lessen the sheer mortification of having your son walk in on you naked with someone in bed in the middle of the day, Emma's parents comes up behind Henry, little Neal safely tucked in David's arms.

"What is – " David starts, before making a strangled noise when he sees them, his eyes darting over to Killian with nothing less than murder in them; Killian moves slightly so that he's behind Emma, basically using her as a shield, and she can't help but roll her eyes even as her cheeks are burning up.

A few very painful seconds pass where nobody does or says anything at all, everyone darting their eyes around the room to avoid eye-contact, until Mary Margaret clears her throat loudly.

"So…," she says, dragging out the syllable for as long as she can. "Tacos?"

(They all laugh for a good fifteen minutes before Killian wonders what a tacos is and why it's so bloody funny. David, seemingly already in his forgiving phase towards Killian, explains in staggering words what Emma and Henry experienced two years earlier, which brings about another fit of laughter.)

(Emma finds Killian's hand under the covers and squeezes hard. She could really get used to having a home such as this.)


	31. laughter

_a/n: i'm having a bit of a writer's block, so i just went with it today. it's kind of random, but figured i might as well post it anyway._

* * *

><p><span><strong>laughter<strong>

* * *

><p>"Unbelievable," Emma mutters to herself as she watches the chaos that used to be her home; paper falling from the ceiling fan landing all around the room, blue paint splashed on every white surface available, jam on the wonderful cushions she'd bought just a few weeks earlier, dough (probably made with flour and water, or something to that effect) lying in little balls on the wooden table, and three adult men sitting in the on the floor in the middle of the room with a gigantic paper in front of them.<p>

She doesn't have to say or do anything at all except cross her arms and raise an eyebrow before they are all grinning innocently at her, eyes darting between each other in a way that makes her think they are trying to communicate through their minds in an attempt to come up with something clever to say.

It's Killian who breaks the silence first with a wide-eyed oh-so-innocent cough.

"Hello, darling." He smiles at her, in the same way he _knows_ makes her heart pound twice as fast (that asshole) that tells her he sees just how she is going to react. And damn him, he is probably right, but there is another kind of feeling inside her too, one that almost tugs at the corner of her mouth, one that she is trying really hard not to embrace right this moment when she should stay mad, one that makes it impossible for her to look at the men at all – which is why she addresses the ceiling when she speaks again.

"What are you guys doing?"

She steals a quick glance at them, determined not to let her emotions come bubbling up to the surface until she's alone – if they find out, the mischief will never end.

She sees Robin bumping his shoulders at David's, who just raises his eyebrows determinately at Killian (her stomach does a flip-flop just as it always does whenever she sees something of herself in one of her parents); he sighs.

"We're gathering supplies to support the queen in the election next week," Killiian says easily with a shrug and points at the large paper in front of them that has the words '_Vote Queen, feel Royal_' on it in big blue letters, and she can only nod solemnly. There is a pause and she returns her gaze upwards; the feeling is now in her throat, dangerously close to the edge.

"Why are you in _my_ apartment then?" she asks after swallowing loudly, hoping to choke down the feeling for as long as possible.

(She can still feel it boiling inside.)

"Location," David replies, finally speaking. "We didn't want paint all over Killian or Robin's rooms at Granny's because she would've had our heads for that. And I didn't want Neal inhaling all the fumes from the paint, or accidentally swallowing something."

She meets his eyes carefully, pinching her lips together as hard as she can – but then she sees a few blue streaks in Killian's hair, and a large stripe across Robin's cheek and it is impossible; the laugh leaves her quickly, and she tries to cover it up with her hand to no avail. When she sees the three men exchange glances again, it's too much for her to handle and she breaks out in a roar of laughter, making her eyes tear up, her cheeks hurt from smiling, her lungs begging for air.

When she finally calms down enough to speak, they are staring at her, so she lets out another small laugh. "You guys are ridiculous." She heads for her bedroom, shaking her head, speaking as she leaves. "Clean it up."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, she heads back out to the living room, pleased with what she sees; only Killian is left, sitting in the middle of her large couch, the TV on with his full attention on it, so she watches him for a few precious seconds when he doesn't realize she's there, feels her heart swell when he finally feels her presence and turns his head with a dazzling smile.<p>

She smiles back. "Move in with me."

She doesn't plan the words, doesn't even have time for her mind to process them until they are out – and it feels good.

And Killian just grins even wider as he gets up and steps closer to her; he says "I'd love to," as his lips are floating over hers, so she laughs, and it feels right.

"No more blue paint, though," she states when she takes his hand to lead him to her – no _their_ bedroom. He only smirks back.

And it feels good; it feels _right_.


	32. untitled

**untitled**

She wakes up in the early morning to the soft sunlight traveling inside the bedroom, and she searches for the hand on her thigh to touche the finger tips; slides her own hand underneath to intertwine the fingers with her own; squeezes gently to make sure it's all real and not some dream that goes on and on forever until you can't recall what's imagination and what's reality. The hand hugs back, equally delicate, and she smiles to herself.

She brings up both hands to her chest and looks at it in the dim light, her stomach fluttering silently to the same beat as her heart. When she feels the cold metal starting to comb through her hair in even strokes she can't – doesn't want to – avoid the approving hum that escapes her, which sounds closer to a purr than anything else.

She hears the grin more than she sees it, but can't think of a single reason to tell him to stop. So she doesn't.

They stay in the same postition silently for an hour until the words she's been struggling with for a few days easily leave her, almost as if she's been saying them forever, which shouldn't really surprise her; everything with him is so natural, so easy, and so _good_. Still, her insides does a flip-flop before the words are out, but it's the good kind; the one she's always been craving; the one she gets whenever they kiss; the one she gets when he looks at her and just _knows_.

"I love you, Killian."

She feels him freeze behind her for a whole second during which she doesn't dare turn around in his arms to see his face, but then suddenly the second is over and he is placing his lips close to her ear, and pulls away her hair as he does so.

"I know you do." He presses a kiss to her temple, starting a trail down to her neck before moving up again. "I love you too, Emma."


	33. in sickness (and in health)

_a/n: long time since i posted anything here! well, i'm down with a cold and i needed some fluff. i also found some writing ideas, with one of them being included in here. i'll write what the prompt was at the bottom - i don't want to spoil! ;)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>in sickness (and in health)<strong>

* * *

><p>She's dying.<p>

Well, technically she _knows_ that that's not exactly true, but on the inside she feels as if she's standing on the edge of a cliff, flames rising up to her face, mere inches from falling down to land on the rocks below – but her head is pounding so hard she might as well already have fallen.

In reality, she's safely tucked in her bed and nowhere near a precipice (or death for that matter). It's not even four p.m. and she has already eaten enough cough drops to last her a lifetime and she tries to follow the direct order Dr. Whale had given her ('_Go home, and go to bed. I recommend sleep and bed rest, because there's not much I can do for a common cold or the flu, Emma_'), but how the hell is the supposed to sleep when it feels like her head is inside the Big Ben as it rings, her cheeks is the size of a hamster's, and her nose impossible to breathe through. This means that if she closes her mouth to sleep (which happens to be her default sleeping position, because it looks moronic to leave it open with drool dripping from the corners (which might be a slight exaggeration)) she will probably die from suffocation.

Emma, a drama queen when she's sick? Nope.

She turns her head toward the open bedroom door at the sound of a quiet knock.

"How're you holding up, lass?" Killian asks with an ever so friendly smile, and she wants to cringe at the pity in his eyes but her whole body aches so she settles for a small shake of her head.

"Can't sleep," she croaks out in a voice that sounds as if it belongs to a smoker of fifty years. Can't brea_d_ through my nose," she continues and tries not to be annoyed about how her blocked nostrils make it impossible for her to finish normal god damn words like _breathe_ without adding a d. "Brea_d_," she tries again, and frowns deep.

He grins. "So leave your mouth open, love, you always sleep like that anyway."

She narrows her eyes slightly at him, before closing them altogether. "Do not." She shivers and tries to curl the duvet closer around herself, but she's already basically a commercial for pigs in blanket, with only her head sticking out at the top of the comforter (she tried putting her whole body underneath it, but it was so hot it became even _harder_ to breathe) so it doesn't make any difference.

"Move," she hears his voice, and opens an eye to see that he's right by the bed, wearing a very calculated expression. When she doesn't respond but only continues to stare dumbly at him (she can't be sure, but she thinks her brain might be clouded with phlegm) he lifts the duvet and climbs into the bed.

He plasters himself along her entire body (even tucks her cold toes in between his own feet) and curls his arm around her waist.

"Sleep," he tells her, and somewhere in between getting warmer and not caring about her open mouth and only about the man that's willing to risk getting sick himself just to make sure she's warm, she suddenly thinks sleep is an excellent idea.

* * *

><p>She wakes up again when it's dark outside, and her alarm clock tells her it's almost two a.m. When she doesn't immediately feel the need to cough or sniffle or groan in pain she wants to do a happy dance – hoping that it means the worst is over – and is only stopped by the sudden sensation that her intestines are turning inside out. She moves at what she considers to be the speed of lightning, and just barely makes it to the toilet in time.<p>

He comes in when her body lets her pause for a moment, crouches down behind her and gathers up her hair in an easy movement. She closes her eyes to take a deep breath, and he kisses the back of her head in a comforting gesture just before she hurls again.

Sometime after the third or fourth time – when she's exhausted and want it to stop _so badly_and he just continues to make approving noises and stroking her back with what is left of his left arm – she has an epiphany, and is just about to ask him what she wants when another round begins.

But she's never been the one to back down from a challenge.

"Will you" _hurl_"marry me," _hurl_ "Killian?"

She passes out on the floor shortly after, and wakes up in her own bed in the morning, sun beaming through her bedroom window. The spot next to her is empty, but there is a note in his place.

_If you remember and meant it; a thousand times yes. If not, I'll remind you in a week or two_, it says.

She grins like an idiot, because of course she remembers – and she'd never meant anything more in her entire life.

There's a sound coming from the bathroom, and she gets up; her body still aches, but at least she feels somewhat human again. When she opens the door, Killian is hanging over the toilet, and if he were an actual cartoon (and not just an ex fairy tale character), his face would have the color of light green.

She crouches down behind him, and does what he did for her during the night, because how could she not?

When he gets up for air she puts her lips against his ear and whispers, "I meant it."

* * *

><p><em>an: okay, so the prompt was "inappropriately timed proposals"! as always, reviews are worth more than gold. cheers lovelies!_


	34. Hello, is it me you're looking for?

_a/n: this was for a writing meme thing on tumblr, the prompt being "two miserable people meeting at a wedding au"_

* * *

><p><span><strong>hello, is it me you're looking for?<strong>

* * *

><p>She slouched down as far as she could in her chair and started picking of the petals of the closest flower, throwing them on the table. She had already finished her champagne that they offered to the appetizer's (which had been pigs in blanket no matter what anyone else claimed; when Emma had said it, one the other ladies standing close by had laughed at her so hard she spilled some of her drink) and hadn't brought enough money to buy booze from the bar. Who the hell could afford those ridiculous prizes anyway? Unless money fell from your ass that is. So now she had to sit and wait <em>oh so patiently<em> for the main course to arrive along with the much awaited alcohol.

Time stood absolutely still.

If not for the fact that it was Emma's closest friend Ruby that got married, she wouldn't even be in this place. She _hated_ weddings. There was the socializing that was required, because apparently it wasn't accepted to stand still in a corner, just drinking your champagne and ignoring everyone as best as you could. Then there were the ridiculously long speeches everyone held, the next one trying to bring more tears than the one before. Her own speech to Ruby and Victor had been the best inside joke they'd ever had (involving an unsuccessful band, two concerts and too much tequila) and were exactly two words long: _rock on_. Ruby and Victor had laughed until they cried but the rest of the guests had just stared at Emma like she were the biggest idiot to ever attend a wedding. Well, she had caught the smirk of one of Victor's friends she didn't know the name of, but she figured he was just being sympathetic. And anyway, all she cared about was that Ruby and Victor was happy, it was their day, not anyone else's.

But if the socializing and the speeches weren't enough, there were always at least three people looking at Emma with a head tilt and a careful smile, actually pitying her for not having a date. _Come on people, it's the twentieth first century_, she wanted to shout at them.

But she didn't. She knew _some_ manners.

(And Emma didn't even think about how Ruby had beamed when her father had given her away, or the pain in her own chest as he did, watching what she'd never had and never would have.)

She stole another glance at her golden wrist watch and stifled a groan when she saw only five minutes had passed. She questioned her best friend's planning a bit – who the hell had all the speeches before even serving the main course? Or at least lots and _lots_ of alcohol.

"Rum?" said a voice suddenly very close to her ear, and she jumped, hand over her chest. She turned her head and saw Victor's friend that had grinned at her speech, and now he was grinning again. "Sorry, lass. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Then don't be so chipper about it," she muttered, sinking back into her chair. Her brain suddenly traced back to what he'd said first, and she looked up at him again. "Did you say rum?"

He shook a small metal bottle in his hand. "Always carry a little with me."

"Rum is the solution to everything, isn't it?"

He laughed. "Just about." He started to leave toward the exit, and Emma was left frowning after him until he turned around. "Coming?"

Her eyebrows shot up but she followed nonetheless, since she weren't even allowed to drink what he had if the staff saw it.

When she caught up with him, he was already sitting on the floor of the cloakroom, back against the wall. He had tilted his head up as well to lean against the hard surface, and his eyes were closed.

He looked – haunted?

He lifted the flask to his lips and took a giant gulp; Emma watched as he swallowed as if in a trance, and she wondered if maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

"Any left for me?" she asked before she could regret it. She plopped down next to him and accepted the bottle, taking a small sip at first just to make sure it was rum.

"It's rum, I promise," he chuckled beside her as if he could read her mind.

She shrugged, and drank some more in the silence that followed. A couple of minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"I'm Killian." He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it.

"Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, and she had to hold back a shiver at the way he said her name; like a prayer, or the answer to a question he'd never asked but always wanted an answer to.

And then they talked. _And laughed._

* * *

><p>"So, why are you feeling sorry for yourself tonight?" she asked when they'd been silent for a while, and she couldn't think of anything else to say.<p>

Thankfully, he smiled. It was one-sided, and not wholeheartedly, but it was better than nothing. "Can't stand weddings. And ever since the accident," he gestured by lifting his left arm that Emma hadn't noticed was being held up by some cloth – how had she not noticed? Talk about embarrassing. "I haven't exactly been in the mood for parties."

Emma stared at his arm. "What happened?" she whispered, unable to help herself.

There was a flicker of pain in his eyes before he managed to smile. "Water under the bridge."

She leaned forward a bit, glad the rum was in her system. "You know, Killian, I have this - well - some might call it a superpower. I can always tell when someone is lying, and _that_ my dear rum drinking friend was a lie."

He frowned. "Aye." He ran his hand over his face. "But my story is a story not suited for something as cheerful as a wedding I'm afraid."

She nodded in agreement, and grinned. "Next time then."

He lit up, smirking. "Next time?"

She took a large gulp of the rum and handed him the flask again before getting up from the floor, not speaking. She left the room with a smile over her shoulder and only saw glimpses of him during the rest of the reception; she was relieved when she saw he seemed to have trouble hiding a smile too.

(When she came home a few hours later she laughed when she found a napkin in the pocket of her jacket with his number and name scribbled on it in neat writing. She laughed because she had done the exact same thing.)


	35. wingardium leviosa

_a/n: someone i follow on tumblr (onceuponamirror) got an anon that wanted herny to tell killian about harry potter, and she said she wanted killian obsessed with hp au and i did a short thing, oops_

* * *

><p><strong><span>wingardium leviosa<span>**

* * *

><p>Just as Emma wraps her hand around the door knob to her apartment, there's the sound of two people screaming and glass breaking; she enters quickly, not sure what to expect, but is immediately faced with giant relief when she only sees Henry and Killian there. They're both frowning at the shattered glass on the floor, as if trying to solve some kind of mystery.<p>

She sighs as she takes of her gloves. "What are you guys doing?"

They look up at her at the exact same time – the sight is nothing but pure comic gold – as if they hadn't even heard her. Neither Henry nor Killian speaks, but Emma sees Killian holding something looking an awful lot like a branch (or a wand one might say) and quickly catches up.

She can't help the laugh that escapes. "This again? I thought the broomsticks taught you both a valuable lesson." _The Quidditch incident_ as she'd begun to call it in her mind had been horrible, and had left Killian with a sprained ankle, a fine from the guy who's living room they'd burst through and a very embarrassing phone call for Emma.

(She'd had _actual_ pain in the muscles of her stomach the day after, from keeping from laughing so much – she couldn't very well attend a 'crime scene' as the sheriff and then promptly start laughing because she found her boyfriend and son to be hilarous).

She unbuttons the final button of her coat and hangs it up before starting to scan the room for any other damage; it looks like the glass bowl is the only victim.

"We were doing just as she told us," Killian says with a frown, nodding at the television; there's a frozen picture of Hermione Granger as she's teaching Ron to say _Wingardium Levios_a properly.

(Okay, so she may have seen the movies a few times with Henry, and read the books a couple of times. Just enough to recognize the scenes, so maybe three times. Or ten).

"You were trying to make the bowl levitate with the wand in your hand?" She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Yes," they reply simultaneously, both gazes still turned on the small fragments on the floor. And they're so cute she can't do anything but walk around the glass splinters and pull them both in for a hug.

"I'd keep trying. Stubborn is a valuable trait," she says when she pulls back, smiling at them both. She then heads toward the bedroom and closes the door. Almost.

"Again, lad?" Killian says just as she's left, and she can actually hear the grin on his face even though she can't see him properly. Of course he knows her, and what she'd do.

She peeks out from the small gap she'd left open, and just when they both say, "Wingardium Leviosa", she makes the bowl levitate with her own magic, and the gasp from both of them is better than a Sunday buffet – and she_loves_ Sunday buffets fiercely – even though she knows Killian is aware that he wasn't the one to perform magic.

He's such a nerd.

("I can't believe I'm a bloody muggle," he mutters grumpily a while later, when Henry has gone to Regina and Robin's; she kisses his frown until it goes away).


	36. fragile heart

_a/n: another tumblr prompt. this time it was "waking up with amnesia au". ouch._

* * *

><p><span><strong>Fragile heart<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Amnesia, every memory fades away till it's gone<em>_  
><em>_Where did you go?__  
><em>_Amnesia, went from everything to nothing__  
><em>_No we anymore, she's a stranger that I used to know_

He blinked his eyes open – once, twice – and her heart started beating again.

Two months, four days and six hours had passed, and she had spent every single day in the one chair that occupied the room he had been given at the hospital, basically giving it a permanent imprint of her body. It had been what felt like longer than forever just staring empty at the heart monitor, waiting for something – _anything_ – to change, just praying he would come back to her, and that he'd never break the promise he had made in his vows the year before ('_I'm never going to leave you, Emma, unless you wish otherwise someday_').

He stirred and met her gaze; she quickly caught his hand between her own two.

"Killian," she whispered, afraid to scare him – but she was just so _relieved_, and she wanted to touch him to make sure it was real and not another one of her dreams (or worse, nightmares). He kept his eyes on her, a slight frown on his face, and she became worried he might've lost his ability to speak, or were in massive pain.

"I'm just going to get Whale, and I'll be right back," she promised. She left after pressing a gentle kiss to his hand.

When she returned it was all but plastered along Whale's back, trying to hurry him along. He picked up the chart from the foot of the bed and flipped back and forth among the papers for a while, and continued on to check the heart monitor and his breathing. (It had been a miracle that they hadn't needed to hook him up to some machine to help him breathe, Whale had told her the week after Killian had been admitted).

"Killian, how are you doing?" Whale finally asked.

Killian cleared his throat, and Emma held her breath. "Fine, I think."

"Excellent. Anything that hurts?"

"Everything?" Killian said with what was probably supposed to be a grin, but turned into a cringe.

"Maybe give him some more morphine or something?" Emma intervened, and Killian turned his eyes to her again.

"I'm sorry, lass, but – who are you?"

.

'_Memory loss_', Whale had told her as if it were a simple cold that wasn't to be worried about. '_It might be temporary'_, he'd added with pity in his eyes. Emma ran, heart shattering around her into a million pieces.

.

She told Killian she was his wife, but he couldn't even remember her name and had continued to frown at her like she was some creature he had never seen before. She told him about how they met, but his expression continued to be that of a blank page; he told her the last thing he could remember was trying to help Cora get to some town named Storybrooke, and a vision of a woman with golden hair. She didn't have the heart to tell him it was her.

.

She refused to tell him her name, hoping he might remember it on his own by some miracle. She dreamt of the last time they kissed, how he had whispered her name against her lips, promising to return after dealing with the pirates that had invaded town, requesting an audience with Captain Hook and no one else.

She woke up to a wet pillow.

.

A week passed and Killian continued to heal, but his memory did not return. Emma kept going back to visit, each time hoping - praying - she'd enter the room and be met with a dazzling smile and an accusation – '_Where have you been, love? Missed you. Love you._'

It didn't happen.

.

Three weeks after waking up, she finally pushed him too far.

She told him about the day they got married, her heart breaking again and again _and again_ when she saw the bland look in his eyes that told her that _her_ Killian still hadn't returned.

She told him his vows to her, and couldn't help the accusatory tone of her voice when she said he'd promised to never abandon her.

He told her to leave him alone after that, and the worst part was that she knew he wasn't lying.

.

She came back later that night, when she was sure he was fast asleep and promised herself she would be gone before he woke up. But with him there, so close – she couldn't sleep knowing that she wasn't allowed to see him again, and just hoped he wouldn't notice her during the night and freak out.

She woke when it was still dark outside to a faint whisper.

"_Emma._"


	37. perhaps I would

_a/n: saw a gif set of their kiss, with focus on killian's expression, and this just had to be written. been done a thousand times before, but I can't very well deny my muse!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>perhaps I would<strong>

* * *

><p>When she draws back, she sees him open his eyes slightly, and he looks so shocked, <em>so raw<em>, that she snaps out of whatever delusion she was in and tells him it was a one time thing. She needs to think, she needs space, she needs to_breathe_, and she can't do that with him there, so close, not knowing what's going on inside her right now. No, she can't allow herself to feel that way again, not about anyone.

She takes a (reluctant at first) step back, checking to see if she's able to move without falling down, and lets out a breath when she has her back to him, relieved – she _thinks_. There's a feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she's afraid of what it might mean, afraid what will happen if she releases it, so she suppresses it as hard as she can and continues to put one foot in front of the other until she's completely out of sight from him.

She finds a tree, falls back against the trunk and thinks, "_Fuck_."

.

He remains where he is a long time after she has left, unsure if his legs are still working properly when he feels as if his mind has been hit by a giant ogre. Something was just released, something he has not allowed himself to feel for over a hundred years, and he can't believe it took a kiss – _and not just any kiss either _– to expose it, to make him aware of where he and his feelings has been heading for the past month.

He never would have thought it possible for this to happen again, to find himself feeling more alive than he has in centuries. It's refreshing.

When he starts to move – his mind still on high speed – he finds a fallen tree to sit on and grabs his rum from his pocket. He takes a giant gulp, and thinks, "_Bloody hell._"


	38. Frozen

_a/n: 4x02 headcanon drabble, so spoilers for those avoiding them!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Frozen<strong>

* * *

><p>Emma can see the fault in their plan now, of course she can. Stalking someone that seems to be able to emit ice from their bare hands is a bad idea in itself, but her insisting on going in to check that last room in the building <em>made from ice<em> alone – despite protests from both men accompanying her – was probably not one of her brightest moments. But by the time she yelled at the woman in blue to stop, it was too late to take back the mistake and she had to watch as the ice woman turned around with a scream, and seconds later a wall of frozen water stood between Emma and the rest of the world. The last she saw before the ice fell were the look on her father and Killian's faces, their voices muted by the tumbling snow.

It's been twenty minutes and she can feel her body trying to shut down as she sits on the ice cold floor, legs tucked underneath her in an attempt to keep warm, but she refuses to give in. She knows there's got to be a way out of this; she just hasn't figured it out yet. At first, mere seconds after they became trapped, Emma could still hear the muffled screams of those on the other side, but it stopped after a few minutes – she just hopes that that means they are working on a way to get them out of the ice palace, not that they have given up.

She realizes her parents would not give up until they saw her lifeless body as proof – and perhaps not even then – but as the cold starts seeping its way into her mind more and more, her belief starts faltering. She's scared she'll never see them, or Henry, ever again.

Killian would never give up, either. She wants to laugh at the crap that is her life – because she has finally started to deal with issues she should've dealt with years ago, and the courage to let him in increases by every passing day – but somehow, the cold makes it harder to. It doesn't seem all that funny even though she knows it should be; she tries to remember how he looks, but can only recall his eyes. It still has a soothing effect when she has to take another deep breath of cold air, and closes her eyes to see his.

She turns her head to the woman sitting as far away from her as she can get, rocking back and forth as she stares at her hands with a horrified expression, and Emma feels for her. She knows it was an accident – hell, if anyone would startle her like that, who knows what could happen.

"It-t-t-t wasn't y-y-y-our f-f-f-fault," she manages to get out despite her teeth chattering hard and fast. Her lungs ache from the cold. "W-w-hat's y-y-your n-n-ame?"

The woman slowly meets Emma's gaze. "Elsa."

Emma attempts a smile, and hopes it doesn't look too awful. "Em-m-m-ma."

She's tired, her minds feeling foggier and foggier as the seconds pass, and she looks at the floor beneath her. If she could just lay down for a minute, just to rest her eyes –

She wakes up when someone is shaking her body, seemingly only seconds later. "Emma?!" The voice belongs to a woman – Elsa perhaps, or maybe it had just been a dream – who sounds frantic. She tries to pry her eyes open, but it's heavy and exhausting, so she settles for a small gap, hoping to see something. She tries to move, and realizes she can't feel her feet. She wonders if she should or not, because she can't remember if she's supposed to.

Another shake brings her out of her thoughts. Right, Elsa.

"C-c-c-c-old," she says, and prays she doesn't have to speak again when her mouth aches to stay still just like the rest of her body. She seems to be in a fetal position, with Elsa crouching in front of her, and can't remember how either of them got there when all she can think about is how badly she wants to sleep, just for a short while –

"No! You have to stay awake," Elsa says, and it's like she's screaming inside Emma's mind, her head spinning – she just wants it to stop. "They're coming, I can hear them," she continues, and Emma wonders who. She tries and fails to search for memories of who should come for them, and closes her eyes again, _finally_.

She hears a loud crash – her head feels as if it is exploding with pain – and tries to see, but nothing matters when it's this cold, when her entire body is shouting at her to rest. She manages to get a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes that looks panicked – and wonder why they seem so familiar – before she passes out, and everything turns black.

**.**

When she wakes – mind slowly coming back, trying to process where she is, _exhausted_ – she is covered in blankets. She looks around, recognizes her surroundings that places her at the hospital, and feels her heart skip a beat when she sees the chair at the foot of her bed being occupied. It's a good – butterflies dancing inside – but since she's hooked up to a machine, a nurse comes rushing in just a few seconds later, startling Killian awake into standing up in a rush as she does.

Bewildered, he follows the nurse with his eyes and she waits for his gaze to land on her. He gasps – quietly, but she hears it – before he lets out a giant breath sounding like nothing but pure relief, and her heart does the same thing again. The nurse, who's still checking Emma's pulse, gives her a knowing look and leaves with a small shake of her head and a promise to be back with the doctor.

Killian stays put in front of his chair, as if not daring to move, and she tries smiling. He frowns.

"Swan, I – " he starts, but cuts himself off and drags his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and wants to touch him, just to let him know that she's still here. Her fingers flex, and his gaze flicker to them and then back up to her eyes.

"Scared the living hell out of me. And your parents and young lad." He looks so small, like someone about to lose something, someone – everything.

She lifts her hand up as much as her muscles will allow. "Come here."

He does as she asks, and lets their fingers interlace as he sits down next to her on the bed.

"I'm sorry, but everything turned out alright." She squeezes his hand as hard as she can, which isn't all that much, and hopes that he can feel it. "I can't promise I'll never do something stupid again, though," she adds with a small grin, and gets one in return.

"At least let me be there with you next time."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," she replies because she wants him to be, and she knows he needs to hear it now, before she yawns, suddenly feeling like she hasn't slept in ages.

"Go to sleep," he says, and she nods in agreement, closing her eyes. Barely a second later, she feels something against her forehead – _something_ almost like a pair of lips and a beard that's been growing for three days too long – and his breath on her face. "I'll be here when you wake up, love."

She smiles again as she drifts off. "Good."


	39. Date night

_a/n: short spoilerish drabble for 4x04._

* * *

><p><span><strong>Date night<strong>

* * *

><p>She opens the door in a swift movement in an attempt to get rid of her last nerves, which turns out to be the worst idea of the century because he stands there with a smile, his eyes literally shimmering (<em>fucking shimmering<em>, like a cliché movie that usually makes her cringe, but now she's never been further away from cringing at anything in her entire life) in the dimly lit hallway, and she tries to remember her own name.

"Emma," he sighs (and she wonders when her name went from a simple name to a prayer), as his face lights up (impossibly) more. "You look beautiful." As he speaks, her mind starts screaming at her until she actually _looks_ at him and realizes he's wearing different clothes_. Actual different_ clothes not resembling something a pirate would wear, but instead making him look like a rock star.

(A mindblowingly hot rock star with a fondness for eyeliner).

"Hi," she replies, because how is she supposed to form words with her mouth when she's busy gaping at him?

He takes a few steps forward, into the apartment, and hands her a rose. She smiles, raising her own hand to accept it, but –

"How – what – when?" She stares at the rose in front of her, and the hand that is holding it out to her that most definitely weren't there the night before, or any other night since she met him. She ends up not being able to form a proper question, and just keeps on staring at the very much real left hand in front of her even as she accepts the rose.

"Mr. Gold and I made a deal." He shrugs, as if it isn't a big deal. As if him standing there with his hand back after being without it for hundreds of years doesn't matter much at all.

She grimaces. "A deal?" She lifts she rose to her nose, inhales the sweet scent before meeting his eyes again. "Why would you do that?"

His face softens. "To be able to do this." He steps even closer to her, carefully placing his left hand on her cheek, and she leans into it without thinking about it, closing her eyes as she does. Another hand touches her other cheek, shortly followed by the touch of his lips against hers, a chaste kiss but still more intimate than she would've thought possible. She smiles, and rests her forehead against his, and it does feel good _but_ –

(She doesn't say that she thinks he was great as he was, nor does she whisper how she misses the cold metal against her waist. She wants him to know that he doesn't have to make any changes in order to be with her, that he is good enough even though he can't seem to see that himself (because he's just as much of an open book to her as she is for him and she knows he's been thinking he has to prove himself to her).

She's going to tell him all those things, but not now, not tonight).

"So what do I call you know? Captain Hand?" She laughs at her own joke, and he joins in, his left hand slowly starting to get to know her, twisting in her hair, her heart skipping a beat.

Someone clearing their throat makes Killian take a step back. "You finished?" her father says with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows, but Emma sees the smile still there and shakes her head, wondering if she's imagining his wet cheeks or not.

She takes Killian's hand – the one he had reattached _for her_, the one he made a deal with his arch enemy for – and starts leading them out through the door. "Don't wait up, Dad."

"What am I, some guard? Of course I won't wait up, Emma."

She snorts at the obvious lie, and doesn't miss the exchange of smiles between the two men and the small nod her father gives in return.

She squeezes Killian's hand. "Let's go have our date."

(There's a definite sound of sniveling when the door is closed behind them, which David refuses to admit came from him. She finds an old napkin under the couch a few weeks later, though, with her and Killian's initials inside a heart and she can't stop laughing at the look on her father's face when he sees that she has framed it).


	40. I want to hold your hand

_a/n: another spoilerish drabble for 4x04._

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><p><strong>I want to hold your hand<strong>

* * *

><p>She sees the happiness in his eyes – how the skin crinkles even more than usual when he smiles, and how his grin somehow has grown in size – and she can't help but be happy with him, ignoring the feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her this is wrong. Besides, how could she tell him he should get the hook back when he sits across from her at the restaurant, looking as if his entire world had finally fallen into place?<p>

And she understand, she really does; she never wanted him to change, though, to feel like he wasn't good enough or that he was incomplete, but she can't tell him those things now without telling him getting his hand reattached was a stupid idea.

She sees him steal glances at it every now and then as they eat, flexing the fingers ever so often as if to see if it's real or not, and she sees the sorrow in his eyes as he touches all of his fingers with his thumb like it's a far away memory.

(Perhaps thinking about his brother, Emma guesses with ache in her chest).

They end the night outside of her door, him slowly sinking his head to meet her lips in a kiss goodnight with the patience of someone that knows he will make it across the threshold, just not today. She smiles at him, intertwines her fingers with the ones on his left hand and tugs, just to let him know that she thinks it's okay.

(She doesn't find the moment to tell him she thinks he's being different and she hopes he didn't notice how she winced when he first touched her with the new hand when she had been expected – gotten used to – the cold metal of a hook curling perfectly around her waist).

She dreams nightmares that night, of him trapped and her unable to reach him, and wakes up with her pillow wet from cold sweat.

Her panic doesn't set in fully – she doesn't let the feeling in her stomach take over – until she can't find Killian, and he doesn't answer his phone. She _knows_, deep down like she did when she first saw it back, and doesn't hesitate to visit Gold.

"You have to take it back," she demands as the bell chimes behind her. Gold looks up.

"Miss Swan, I don't have to do anything, but you are going to have to be more specific than that I'm afraid."

She lets out a breath through her nostrils. "Killian's hand. Something's not right, and I can't find him."

Gold's face remains the same expression. "I warned him."

She sighs. "I'm sure you did. Now find him."

"I'm pretty sure you don't need my help with that."

"I'm pretty sure I do, actually. And you're going to do it now." She lets her gaze flicker to a dagger he has on display, knowing Gold will understand Killian has told her. "Or I could just ask Belle."

Less than two minutes later, he has left the shop to find Killian, cursing as he does.

.

Four hours later, there's a soft knock on the front door and Emma rushes to open it, thinking it might be Gold. Instead, she finds Killian there, dripping wet from the rain that has come during the evening, a pained expression on his face.

And a hook where his left hand was.

"Emma, I – " His voice cracks, and she breaks with him, stepping right into his arms without hesitation, holding him as tight as she can. She doesn't ask what happened, or why he got rid of the hand. Not tonight. Now, she just holds him, and whispers the same thing into his ear over and over again, feeling his body relax into hers.

"You're okay. You're okay."


	41. It's time

_a/n: The missing scene, where Emma gets to borrow Killian's jacket. Needed for reasons, like fluff in my heart and they kill me with cuteness_

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><p><strong><span>It's time<span>**

* * *

><p>It's easy being with him – to let her fingers curl around his over the table when she sees the frightened look on his face – and the date goes even better than she had imagined, especially given the interruption of a completely smashed thief and spilled whiskey on her dress.<p>

When they leave the restaurant, it's freezing outside. The thought had occurred to her, of course, that it would be too cold outside to wear just a dress for the walk home, but he had shown up at the door just as she was about to fetch something, and after that – well, he was distracting.

She shivers as a breeze passes her, and he stops immediately to take off his jacket, as if it is the most natural thing in the world and almost as if he has been waiting for the opportunity to keep her warm.

(She remembers his arm around her shoulders after the ice cave, and his eyes never leaving her face.)

"You're cold," he states as he hands her the warm leather, and she can feel the corners of her mouth go up.

"I'll – " The response comes as a reflex, about how she'll manage without any help and that it's her own fault for forgetting (a pair of warm eyes and new clothes, rather), but she stops herself, thinks that it's time to take another step forward, not backward.

"Thank you," she says instead and accepts the jacket with a smile that is reflected on his face as she slips her arms inside – a small shudder going through her entire body at the warm contact – and crosses them across her chest when they start moving again. A smell of safety and happiness and _just right_ overcomes her then, obviously emanating from the jacket, and she inhales a few more times, her heart beating evenly but hard inside her chest.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye as they walk, and can't help the smile that keeps on returning; she takes his left hand in her both, and grins wider when she can feel him press his fingers just a little bit firmer around hers.

(When she's in bed later, desperately trying to think of _anything_ but Killian and sex in the same sentence – which proves to be very hard when all she can imagine is his lips on hers in the dimly lit hallway, and his grin with the promise of a next time – she's suddenly struck with the smell of new leather, and something else.

It doesn't take long for her to realize it's _him_, his scent still on her skin from wearing the jacket, and she takes a shameless deep breath, falling asleep in just minutes.

She dreams of roses and warm kisses. And a place of her own.)


	42. Nightmares

_A/N: I have no idea what this is, but I had some wine and wrote this last night, lol._

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><p><span><strong>Nightmares<strong>

* * *

><p>Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night as he clamps his hand hard around hers in his sleep, as if unable to say a word despite wanting to scream for help. She turns in his arms then, and makes him slowly regain consciousness by stroking her other hand on his cheek, his eyes meeting hers in the barely lit bedroom shortly after.<p>

He doesn't have to speak for her to see the demons playing inside of him, haunting his dreams even after all this time, but he still tells her everything (her heart always squeezing tight at the idea that she has someone willing to share so much, and with whom she would want to give back equally); he has nightmares of his brother mostly, or of other dreadful things during his life as a pirate, but she can always tell when it is about her again.

It's when he's afraid to meet her gaze, his arm pulling her a bit closer even though it seems as if he would want to leave, fingers treading carefully through her hair like one would a very precious doll. She knows he dreams of hurting her, or of not being good enough because of his disability, and those nights she tries to make him look at her to make him see what he should already know.

(That he'd never hurt her, and that she's never cared about the cold metal he always wears.)

"Hey," she says, a finger under his chin. "I'm still here."

He sighs, eyes going all over her face. "Maybe –"

"No," she interrupts him. "Killian, yesterday you had me dressing the puppy and told me I had to be careful so I wouldn't bend his tail too much. You bought him a freaking _hat_ to match the rest of the costume! Trust me when I say you're not that man anymore." She drags her thumb over his bottom lip, glad to see him fighting a smile. "A nightmare is just that; a nightmare."

He leans forward, patiently like he would want to savor the moment as much as possible, and gives her a kiss.

"Thank you." His breath falls over her face as he speaks, and she presses herself even closer, glad that she can be the one for him to banish the demons at nights.

("I love you," she whispers a little while later when he's lying close behind her, arm flung over her waist, and when she can't be sure if his steady breathing is a sign that he is sleeping or not. He doesn't have to be awake, though, she realizes quickly; she just needs to have heard herself say it.

"I know," he whispers in reply against her shoulder blades then, and she can feel the grin against her skin. She laughs, and falls asleep with a smile on her face less than a minute later.)


	43. Say something

_A/N: A conversation that will probably happen in the next episode and it just gives me a lot of emotions, ok_

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><p><span><strong>Say something<strong>

* * *

><p>She's not nervous when she heads home from work.<p>

She would've expected herself to be, considering Killian's short but substantive phone call earlier that day. '_I need to talk to you_' was all he had said, an urgency in his voice that made her see his face clearly in front of her, how his pupils dilated as his lips moved fast. He had refused to tell her anymore over the phone, saying that he wanted to see her face when he spoke to her, and had ended the call with a wish for her to have a great day. It was silly, but it still made her stomach do a flip.

(He had trouble hanging up afterwards, probably pressing the green button instead of the red one on the old phone she had given him a few weeks back. She had smiled to herself when she'd heard his low swearing over how his Emma-button was broken, something settling inside of her at his words.)

But somehow, despite the strange and short call, she's not nervous; she doesn't think he's going to leave her, or that he doesn't want her anymore. She's pretty sure she knows exactly what he wants to say, actually.

She finds him on the couch in the apartment, her parents nowhere to be found, and he looks up to meet her gaze when she enters; it takes all of her restraint not to go straight to him and wrap her arms around him, or just put her hand on his – just _touch_ him. Instead, she tilts the corners of her mouth upwards and he tries to repay it, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

She sits down next to him, close enough so that he knows she's there for him but far away for him to not feel backed into a corner or something of the sorts. (She goes by own experience.)

He drags his hand over his face, avoiding the shiny metal with his eyes like he has for the past few days, barely even having moved the arm unless it had been necessary.

"I've made a mistake," he says, his voice barely a whisper.

(The urge to touch him grows stronger, so she knits her fingers together in her lap, not certain if he would want her to reach out or not.)

"I – " He stops, as if not knowing how to continue, and she leans her head to look at him.

"You made a deal, didn't you?" she murmurs, keeping her gaze firmly on him as he turns his head to look at her, eyes widening a bit.

"How – "

"Reading people is what I do." She shrugs. "Are you okay? Do you want to tell me what happened?"

His face softens, before he starts telling her everything, not giving any emotions away except for the way his jaw keeps clenching and unclenching as he speaks of the apprentice, and how desperate he was to get his hook back so not to hurt anyone else.

(She can't say she's surprised about him hitting Will and can't claim she hasn't imagined doing the same thing.)

He stares at his hook once he's finished and Emma sits there, unsure of what to say to him. That she doesn't care about his disability, and that she never has and never will? That she thinks it was stupid to turn to Gold? That she doesn't think less of him for any of the things he just told her?

She stretches out a hand towards him and lets her fingertips softly touch his cheek to get his attention.

"It's okay," she says once his head has lifted, and scooches closer to him on the couch. "It's okay." She sneaks an arm around his neck, letting the other one follow closely, and sinks into him as he winds his own arms around her waist, and she hopes it will be enough – that _she_ will be enough – to get him through this.

She doesn't let go until she feels him relax – his body loose and heavy where he rests his chin on her shoulder – and when he does she only moves back to let her forehead fall forward, brushing her lips lightly against his (feeling his breathing stagger against her skin).

They fall asleep there, arms a tangled mess, and when they wake up again she finds him studying the hook with an expression filled with disgust, still, but she sees there is something else there too; _hope_. And she knows that he'll be okay.


	44. Fear

_A/N: Based on the new episode and the promo for the upcoming one._

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><p><span><strong>Fear<strong>

* * *

><p>She stares at the potion in her hand, at how the color seems to shine a little brighter every time she turns it between her fingers, and it seems so simple. It's not like she has any other choice, she can't risk hurting anyone she loves ever again – can't take the look in their eyes as if she's some kind of monster that might hurt them. She used to think she'd never be capable of such things, but now she's no longer sure and it hurts to close her eyes, because all she sees is the look in her mother's eyes as her father fell to the ground.<p>

("_There's always a choice, Emma. They could've kept you. They could've figured out something else. They could've tried._" The snow queen's voice rings inside Emma's head and she's helpless to do anything but listen).

Someone rushes into the station, soon followed by another pair of footsteps, and Emma doesn't have to look up to know who it is. She thinks it might be an illusion of what she wants most in the world – for people to love her for who she is – but she knows it can't be, not when she is what she is. She's afraid to meet their eyes – afraid of the horror she might see and the way her heart will break when she does – so she keeps them on the bottle.

("_You can't love somebody you don't understand._" Her mind repeats the same words over and over again until she's unsure of what love really is and if she's ever had it.)

"Emma," her father says, a plea in his voice. "You're stronger than she is."

She shakes her head, the lump in her throat filling her eyes with tears. "I'm not." She removes the cork, watches the blue liquid from above. "This is for the best. I – I don't want to hurt anyone."

"And you won't," Killian says then and she hears him take another step closer to her. Her heart skips a beat and she feels her magic tingling on the tips of her fingers.

"No!" She backs away from them both until she hits the wall. "Please stay away, I don't want to hurt you."

She lifts the bottle to her lips.

"Don't do this." His voice carries something else this time, something more than a plea or pity, and so her eyes instinctively goes to his, steadied for whatever fear she might find there – only to frown as soon as her gaze is fixed upon his. He doesn't seem scared. In fact, his eyes has a warmth in them that makes her falter on her conviction that she has to get rid of her magic in order not to hurt anyone.

She lowers the vial, but keeps it in a hard grip by her side even though her hand shakes. "It – it's what you all want. So you don't have to be afraid of me anymore."

"We're not. _I'm not_." Killian speaks as if he's never been more sure of anything in his entire life and she doesn't know what to do.

David takes another step forward just as Killian had done. "Emma, I promise that we're not afraid of you. No one is." As slow as she can manage, she lets herself meet her father's eyes as well, and sees nothing but the same warmth Killian has in his. Could it be –

"Swan, drinking that potion is not the answer," Killian says and she looks back at him.

"Why not? It would make it all easier."

"Your magic is part of you, love. It would be like losing a hand."

She laughs – can't help herself. Leave it to the 300 year old pirate to be able to make her laugh when she's at her worst. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

He smiles. "Only if you think so." He takes a few more hesitant steps forward until he's standing just a few feet away. He lets his hook curl around her wrist, as if he's afraid she'll run again. "Don't let her win. Prove to her that it's possible to have magic and a family at the same time, Swan."

"Are you included in family, then?" It comes out barely an audible whisper, even though she meant for it to be a quick comeback, but she can tell he has heard it by the small raise of his eyebrows.

"I can be included in whatever you want, love."

She looks down at her hands – doesn't miss the exchange between Killian and her father after his words – and sees they don't glow any longer, like they had the day before. She takes a deep breath, still not certain it wouldn't be better to just drink the potion and get rid of her magic once and for all, but still stretches out her arm so that her father can grab the vial, which he does quickly and without any further questions.

Her legs shake as if she's been drained from all of her energy and she's just about to sink down to the floor when Killian takes the last step towards her and curls his arms around her body, and lets her lean against him.

Something loosens up inside of her, and when she takes a deep breath, her head against his shoulder, it feels like she's coming up from air, having been only seconds away from drowning.

(Her father destroys the vial with the contents still inside and gives her a hug that tells her so much more than any words could.

With him and Killian there she remembers that she _does_ have love in her life and that it doesn't come with the price of giving up part of who you are.)


	45. She hates the sound of goodbyes

_a/n: I did a little change to the oh-so painful episode._

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><p><span><strong>She hates the sound of goodbyes<strong>

* * *

><p>She sees the look in his eyes when he comes rushing towards her, legs barely keeping up, almost stumbling over his own feet in his hurry to reach her, and her heart beats so hard against her chest she has to remind herself it's only been a day since she saw him last.<p>

She laughs against his lips as he kiss her with more passion than she thought possible in the small time their lips are touching, and she puts a hand on his cheek just to make sure he's still there and not an illusion. (After the day she's had, she wants to be absolutely sure.)

When she sees how hard he stares at her she wonders if everything is alright, and he tells her it is. This time her heart skips a beat, because despite being exhausted into her very core, cheeks still wet from the tears she shed earlier and legs still feeling a bit shaky from finally being able to contain her magic, she can tell he's lying to her. She doesn't comment on it, not with Elsa there and her family right outside, but walks outside with Elsa instead, Killian closely following.

After finishing the hugs and the kisses and the forgive me's, she climbs into the yellow bug with Henry, the other four agreeing to walk home despite it being late and cold outside. She's about to sit down when Henry yelps.

"Watch it!" He leans over and takes something from her seat and holds it up for her to see. "You almost crushed your phone."

She takes it with a grin. "Just what I'd need today. Thanks, kid." She puts it in the pocket of her jacket before diving into a conversation with Henry, relishing in being able to be close to him without hurting him – or _being afraid_ to hurt him for that matter.

It's not until she's lying in bed an hour later that she checks her phone and frowns when she sees that she has two voicemails from Killian, the time stamp telling her it was before Elsa and he found her. Still, a feeling in the pit of her stomach makes her want to hear what he said so she puts her ear against the speaker and waits.

The first one is short, his voice seeping with worry, and her heart clenches hard at that. The second one starts of just the same, his voice more frantic this time. She closes her eyes and listens to him speak despite the guilt over making him – and the rest of her family – worry for her.

What she hears, though, makes the lights inside her bedroom flicker like crazy, and when it's over all she can hear inside her head are his last words before the voicemail ended.

"He knew – he knew I'd do whatever it takes to be with you and he used it against me. I just wanted to be a better man for you, Swan, but I failed. And now because of that, I might lose you. I'm sorry, but I hope you won't forgive me because that means you'll get this in time to save yourself. Goodbye."

It takes her less than a minute to leave, ignoring her parents' questions as she does, wearing her pajama pants and a knitted sweater, her hair a mess. She barely remembers to put on shoes and grabs them just before the door closes behind her.

She all but runs along the street until she reaches the inn at Granny's.

Her head is spinning with too many thoughts at once, rage and a feeling of wanting to kick someone's ass on the one side, and something else entirely on the other hand, something that makes her pulse go up and a pleasant warmth spreading through her body even as she's still cold from the evening air outside.

She rushes past the empty reception and straight upstairs, knocking a bit harder on the door to Killian's room than necessary. He opens it after just a few short moments, clearly still awake, and raises his eyebrows at her.

"Swan, what are you – "

She surges forward until she reaches his lips, swallowing down his surprised gasp as she does, dragging him even closer by the lapels of his shirt until she's not sure where she ends and he starts. It takes a few seconds for him to respond, probably confused about what's going on, and when he does he puts an arm around her waist in a firm grip, letting his hand rest in her hair.

She breaks apart after a while – she can't tell how long – and leans her forehead against his.

"I heard the message you left on my phone."

His eyes widen, but he stays silent.

"And if you think I'd ever accept a goodbye over the phone, you clearly don't know me at all."

She pulls back further to look at him and he looks as if he's about to receive some extremely bad news. "And," she continues. "If you think I accept any goodbyes at all, you are mistaken."

"What?" He frowns, and she laughs once, soft, and presses her lips to his cheek.

"I hate goodbye's, so let's not do it at all."

A grin slowly spreads across his face as he finally understands what she's saying. "Agreed."

She looks at him gravely. "I'm kicking Gold's ass, though."


	46. Advent fic 1 - Tinsel

_a/n: I'm doing a christmas fic for every advent, but since I "missed" the first one I published this today! Come say hi on tumblr (oncestifer is my url) and fangirl with me!_

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><p><span><strong>Advent fic #1 - Tinsel<strong>

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><p>"What the bloody hell is that?" Emma turns at Killian's horrified voice and follows his gaze to the newly decorated tree in the apartment where Henry is just putting up the last tinsel. The entire place looks like it's been taken straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, and she <em>loves<em> it.

"What?"

He takes a few quick strides until he's standing next to Henry and grabs a handful of tinsel before starting to shake it in the air above him. "This! Is it some kind of light magic?"

Emma laughs – she just can't help herself when he asks questions like that with a straight face, and she has trouble seeing how that same face once was a feared pirate – and she sees Henry cover his mouth with a hand as he turns away from Killian. Killian looks so confused, barely even having noticed them laughing as he keeps staring at the glittering tinsel in his hand, pouring it over his hook; most of it falls to the floor, but some gets caught in the metal.

She walks up to him, a smile still on her lips.

"This is called tinsel," she says and starts removing the few strands of glitter that's hanging over his hook. "It's used for decoration during Christmas."

He frowns. "With what purpose?"

"It looks pretty on the tree."

"This realm never ceases to puzzle me. Did you know that Granny serves something white and sweet called eggnog that she all but forces everyone to drink?"

Emma laughs again. "I thought you'd like that. I think she makes her with rum in it, actually."

"That drink does not deserve to have rum in it." He twists his face into a grimace. "It was a nightmare. I had to empty the entire glass and I'm afraid she might try to serve it to me again tomorrow."

"Well, then I guess it wouldn't be right to let you spend the night there, would it? I don't want you to have to go through such a horrible experience again," she says with a sheepish, exaggerated, grin and he chuckles just as Henry groans.

"Unsupervised child in the room, keep it PG, please."

Emma reaches out and ruffles Henry's hair. "I was just making a joke, kid."

He grins back. "I know, but I also know it wasn't a complete joke."

She feels her face heating up and quickly busies herself by helping Henry with the last of the electric candles that goes on the tree and completely ignores the laughter coming from Henry and Killian, smiling to herself at the warmth that spreads through her body at the sound of their joint laughter.

And when it's time to sleep, when her parents are already half-way to their bed and Henry is back at Regina's, she takes Killian's hand in hers and squeezes once, enough of a question in there for him to understand. He doesn't reply, but just starts following her up the stairs and the knot she'd been having in her stomach the entire evening about this moment dissolves immediately.

(She wakes in the middle of the night to an empty bed and frowns to herself as she gets up, not bothering with her pants as she heads downstairs. She finds him sitting in the couch in nothing but one of the new pair of underwear's she had helped him buy the other week, and when he lifts his gaze to meet hers, he looks as if he's been waiting for her to join him.

She curls up next to him, taking a blanket with her as she does. His arm is tight around her waist and they sit there in silence, just looking at the lit tree.

"I suppose I do rather like the tinsel," he murmurs just as she's about to fall asleep, her eyelids heavy and his breathing soothing.

She huffs a laugh. "Told you.")


	47. Kiss cam

_A/N: Strangers who end up on the kiss cam at a sporting event, found at a au prompt list. (I do not know a thing about any sport at all. Sorry for any mistakes or confusions.)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>This kiss is something I can't resist<strong>

* * *

><p>She hates baseball. She hates the smell at the arena (beer, snacks and days old urine) and the way the ground always is sticky from people spilling their drinks and not bothering to clean it up. She hates listening to the screaming fans around her and how the players on field look as they are running. She hates the sound of the ball meeting the metal bat and the dust that flies around the team as one of the players tries to fly twenty feet in a single second and ends up meeting the gravel – and how they all seem legitimately shocked by the fact that they couldn't make it.<p>

(She always rolls her eyes at that, because unless you have super powers, there's no way anyone could make that distant in such a short amount of time.)

No, football is more her thing, a sport she can relate to and where she understands what goes on and why they insist on serving only one sort of beer. In football, the players don't do unrealistic distances and the audience doesn't seem as daft.

(Growing up playing and watching nothing but football, she might be biased.)

But here she is anyway, dragged there by her two closest friends, Mary-Margaret and David, trying to find interest in the game as her so-called friends sits on one side of her and makes out like there's no tomorrow. The guy on the other side of her keeps glancing her way without saying anything and she's less than three seconds away from punching him straight in the face.

Finally, some kind of halftime occurs – although, David told her there's no such thing as halftime in baseball. She had scoffed at that and didn't bother to remember what breaks during the game was called, because it wasn't as if she were going to become a regular fan.

She pokes David's shoulder and he finally removes his lips from Mary Margaret's mouth, looking at her like he completely forgot they weren't alone. The two of them are so freaking in love, _all the time_. Don't get her wrong; Emma loves her friends and couldn't be happier for them but after five years, they still look at each other as if it was their first date.

(She's only partly jealous.)

"It's break time, half time, or whatever. Do you guys want anything to drink?"

David rolls his eyes. "Seventh-inning stretch."

Emma grins. "Like you would even know what day it is right now."

He shrugs just as Mary Margaret starts laughing. Emma frowns at her, wondering why everyone suddenly starts to whistle around them.

"What is it?"

Unable to stop laughing, she just points up at the score boards above the center of the field. Emma follows her friend's gaze - and sees herself and the stranger next to her there, a big pink heart around them.

Great. It's just her luck to get stuck on kiss cam with a perfect stranger, who probably already had spent the entirety of the game wondering what her ass looks like when she walks. But to be fair, he does look like a decent human being, but she's not stupid; she knows there are attractive psychos out there as well.

(She's certain she's dated at least half of them.)

The bleachers all around them starts cheering as well, but the stranger doesn't do anything except lean back in his seat and raise an eyebrow at her, a small smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.

_Hell no_, she thinks. She has never backed down from a challenge in her life and it's not like she would start when a cocky stranger - who's probably an actual stalker - thinks she's too much of a coward.

Smirking, she grabs a handful of the lapels of his leather jacket with both her hands and pulls him towards her, ignoring the increasing volume of the crowd; she sees his surprised facial expression just before their lips meet.

And just like that, the audience or him probably being a creeper isn't the problem any longer; his lips are the problem and the fact that she can't think of a reason not to continue their kiss forever - or at least until they have to breathe.

She thinks she hears some whistles and catcalls nearby, but she can't be sure because all of her blood seems to have risen to her head, her pulse beating loud in her ears as he - a stranger she has to remind herself - puts a hand on the side of her face, carefully, like he's afraid to break her.

After an eternity – her nose filled with the scent of his skin, her cheeks burning from the scrapes of his stubble – they break apart, both panting as if they have just run a marathon and not kissed in front of thousands of people.

She registers that the kiss cam is long gone and knows that David and Mary Margaret are staring at her, can feel their burning looks at the back of her head, but she tunes them out like she does the rest of the people around them (some still gaping, some giggling silently but not very discretely).

The man smiles as he clears his throat, offering his hand to her. "Hello, my name is Killian Jones."

She grins back, can't help herself. "I'm Emma Swan."

Killian nods. "I know," he says calmly and now she knows he's –

"A stalker! Oh my God, I should know better than to kiss people that stares at me, even if they challenge me to do it. You should know I have close contacts within the police and – "

He holds up his hands in the air. "Care for a pause to let me explain myself?"

Emma only nods.

"We met a few weeks ago."

"We did not."

"Aye, we did. Arctic Monkeys had a gig downtown. You kissed me on the dancefloor and told me your name was Emma before you threw up on my shoes."

Feeling her eyes go wide, she tries to remember anything of that night but has no recollection after her third drink on their way over there. She hears a muffled laughter behind her and turns her head to look at her friends.

"It's true," Mary Margaret says. She gapes at her friends.

"Then why didn't you tell me?!"

Mary Margaret shrugs. "More fun this way."

"You know," Killian starts, so she turns back to face him again, deciding to deal with her soon to be ex-friends later. "I'd be willing to give it another go. It might jog your memory."

She rolls her eyes at his innocent smile. "I'm sure it would, but it has to wait. I'm bored of this game and hungry."

She gets up from her seat and starts moving towards the end of the aisle, while Killian lowers his gaze to the floor like a freaking puppy – and be damned if her heart doesn't melt a little at that.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "Well, are you coming?"

He's up in just a few seconds, a dazzling smile on his lips as he trails behind her – and maybe her heart skips a beat when she feels, rather than sees, him come up right next to her.

(And maybe she remembers their first encounter later that night as they kiss again.)

And maybe, just maybe, she doesn't hate baseball quite as much as she used to anymore.


	48. Sleep, baby, sleep

_A/N: After reading THE most perfect Daddy Killian fic yesterday, I cannot stop thinking about it. So have a daddy Killian fic!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sleep, baby, sleep<strong>

* * *

><p>Not that Emma would ever admit to it out loud should anyone ask, but she <em>loves<em> to sing. She does it when she cooks and is all alone; she does it when she takes a shower and the door is safely locked from prying ears; she does it when she vacuums her and Killian's apartment, when she's certain he won't be back home for a couple of hours.

She does it often, and she does it poorly. No, poorly is not word enough to describe how tone deaf she is, but she figures that as long as she doesn't put anyone else through the nightmare that is her singing voice, she can keep doing it for her own enjoyment.

Emma is busy with the dishes, singing 'I will survive' at the top of her lungs, the water splashing all around her as she flings her arms up in the air, when there's a soft cough from behind her.

She yelps, turning around fast, and barely avoids dropping the wet plate in her hands as she meets Killian's amused eyes.

"I – I didn't think you'd be home just yet," she manages with a straight face, looking everywhere save his eyes; she knows she'll start laughing when she meets his gaze.

"I came to surprise you," he replies and lifts a bouquet of roses he holds in his hand. She can hear the grin in his voice as he speaks and bites the inside of her cheek to keep the corners of her mouth from dragging upwards; she has this idea that if she can keep from laughing, some of her dignity might still be intact.

"Oh. That's nice."

"Aye."

A silence falls between them, stretching on for a full minute before Emma can't take it anymore and finally releases the bubbling laughter in her chest. Killian quickly joins in.

"That was – "

"A horrible experience you never hope to re-live again?" Emma interjects in between laughter.

"– Unique."

She nods with a grin, taking a deep breath. "It's a good thing I didn't raise Henry, he'd be deaf if he'd had to spend years with my lullabies."

Killian shakes his head. "It's not as horrendous as you say it is, but if it makes you feel any better, I promise to sing for any future children and spare them your music."

Her stomach does a flip-flop, thinking of the morning she had with her head over the toilet and that one clear, life altering, message on a white plastic stick.

"I didn't know you could sing," she says instead of what she desperately wants to shout from the roof tops – or at least whisper privately for only him to hear, just to see the look on his face.

He shrugs. "Some." He then narrows his eyes slightly, watches her fingers dance over her stomach. "Is everything alright, love?"

She smiles and lets her hand rest just below her belly button. "Actually – "

* * *

><p>Claire is barely six months old the first time Emma hears it over the baby monitor, a soft murmur waking her up in the middle of the night. It takes her a few seconds to understand where the noise is coming from – and whom it belongs to.<p>

"_Sleep, baby, sleep_  
><em>Your father tends the sheep<em>  
><em>Your mother shakes the dreamland tree<em>  
><em>And from it fall sweet dreams for thee<em>  
><em>Sleep, baby, sleep.<em>"

She hears a low chuckle before he speaks in a hushed tone. "Aye, your mother may shake the dreamland tree, love, but I can assure you your father does _not_ tend to the sheep. That would be your grandfather." There's a pause and she takes the monitor into her hands to make sure it's still on just as the sound of a quiet kiss echoes through the speaker.

She falls back to sleep again a few minutes later, a smile on her lips and Killian's song in her ears.

* * *

><p>"Daddy, daddy, sing the song!" Claire exclaims just as Emma walks through the door.<p>

Claire and Killian are sitting on the floor opposite each other, coloring books, pencils and some toys spread around them. Neither of them acknowledges her presence with more than a quick wave, so she knows she interrupted what could only be a _vital_ moment.

(Just last week, she had come home when Claire painted her father's toenails pink in a precision that only a four year old could muster, tongue sticking out in the corner of her small mouth in concentration. It wasn't until they were done that Claire ran up to Emma, throwing her small arms around Emma's legs as she went on about the wonderful day they'd had together.

Killian had leaned over their daughter to give Emma a chaste kiss, wiggling a foot in the air at the same time to get the polish to dry faster and she had never been less convinced that he had once been the fearsome Captain Hook.)

She sees Killian has a green line across his face and his lips are red with what she can only assume is lipstick, but he still takes their daughter's both hands in his one with a smile so big it looks as if it might split his face in two.

Emma knows the song by heart, now. Has done ever since Killian first found it and claimed it to be their song; his and Claire's.

(He chose a song for him and Emma years ago that made her roll her eyes as he dragged her up from the couch to dance.)

(He's such a sap, and she adores it.)

Killian starts singing then, while Claire just stares in awe like she always does, like he plucked down the moon and the stars for her – something he'd likely try, should she ask.

He waves for Emma to come to the floor, so she joins them there, leaning on Killian's shoulder, watching Claire's face – blond curls for once still on her head, unlike the way they bounce as she runs around, which is most of the time honestly – and tunes out the rest of the world, hearing only Killian's voice and the joined even breathing between her and Claire.

"_As long as one and one are two__  
><em>_There could never be a father__  
><em>_Who loved his daughter more than I love you_."


	49. They say it's your birthday

_A/N: Quite a bit longer than what I usually post here (it's a about 2k long), but I didn't want to post this in an entirely new story. Written as a birthday fic for i-know-how-you-kiss on tumblr. Come say hi, I'm Oncestifer!_

* * *

><p><strong><span>They say it's your birthday<span>**

* * *

><p>Emma blinks a few times as she regains consciousness, wondering for a second what moron left a big crappy light on that only intensifies her headache, before realizing it's coming from outside as the drapes aren't shut on her bedroom window.<p>

She drags a hand over her face, trying to remember – well, _anything_ – from last night, but all she sees are blue eyes on hers. She lets her hand rest over her eyes, concentrating on not vomiting, questioning her life choices and wondering when it became a good idea to have that fourth glass of tequila along with the wine. Birthday or no birthday, there should be limits – _she_ should have limits.

Well, she does, usually. But seeing your ex-boyfriend snogging some young, rich brat, practically straddling her over the hood of his car as you are crossing the street to get to your own damn birthday celebration could have a depressing effect on most anyone. It didn't help that it was the same girl he had cheated on Emma with two months earlier – thus terminating their relationship – either.

She sighs and changes position so that to stare and wallow into the ceiling instead, maybe even watch the cobweb in the corner and curse over the fact that it's been there for more than five weeks and she still hasn't had the energy to take care of it, making herself feel just a little bit worse –

– And has to slap a hand over her own mouth in order not to scream bloody murder when the notices she sleeping body right next to her in bed.

She sits up in less than a second, which shakes the bed enough to make the stranger stir. His face is buried in one of her pillows, facing away from her even as he starts waking up, and from what she can tell as she studies the man's muscled back and tousled black hair, she did well for herself last night.

She pulls her legs up to her chest as she patiently waits for him to fully waken up, her heart beating fast and loud inside her chest. What if he's some psycho that murders women for breakfast? Or what if he's some stalker she's never noticed before because she's been sober enough not to make such stupid mistakes as to take said stalker home to her apartment?

(What if he's absolutely gorgeous and she falls in love with him?)

Chewing on the nail on her thumb, or whatever's left of it anyway, she watches as he lifts his head and starts twisting it around her bedroom – in an attempt to figure out where he is, Emma guesses – until his eyes land on hers.

(She holds in the gasp that wants to escape when she finally gets a good look at his face, because he might just be the most beautiful creature she has ever seen.)

"Um, hi." She waves awkwardly without lifting more than the hand, her arms resting on her knees.

He smiles and starts stretching his arms up as far as they will go. "Morning, love."

Of course he has a perfect English accent that makes her insides all gooey. She frowns, to herself mostly, and as she tries to think of a discreet way to ask him to leave, the words comes tumbling out of her mouth. "I don't remember much from last night and my brother and his wife are coming over any minute."

_Smooth_.

(They aren't, but she figures she can send David a quick text telling them to get over. They live just across the hall from Emma, for better and for worse. This time for the former.)

The man scans her face for a moment, but if he can tell she's lying he doesn't say it. "Then I'll get out of your way as quick as I can. Would you mind if I took a shower, before?" He sits up so that he's right next to her, arms almost touching, but she figures she can blame the shiver on being too cold. "I feel rather – well, dirty."

She nods. "Of course. It's through that door." She points with her whole arm and ignores the way it shakes. It's not until after he has left for the bathroom – butt naked, just casually strutting around in her apartment with what might just be the finest ass in the country – and closed the door behind himself that she finally lets out a giant breath of relief.

She starts moving – or sprinting, rather – around her home, getting dressed, making sure her mess of a hair is safely inside a big knot and sends the text to David, all during the course of one minute.

It's not that she has anything against this particular man – someone clearly perfected by God himself, or whomever the hell it is that has the last say in ridiculously hot people's unfair and unlimited attractiveness – but more men in general. When she found the man she thought she loved, Neal, in bed with another woman (more like _girl_) she realized that she had been fooling herself for the months they had been together. She'd never been in a relationship before, afraid to know that she wasn't lovable in that way, and Neal had only confirmed that for her.

During her two months as a single woman with a newfound perspective on love, she'd had some one night stands, but it had never been at her place and it had certainly not been involving sleepovers.

Until now, apparently. _Great job, Emma; you lasted two months_, she thinks as she bangs her head against one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen. She's just glad the stranger in her bathroom is leaving soon so that she can take some kind of oath or join a convent. Who even needs sex? You don't need other people for that, you just need to make sure you don't run out of batteries at home.

Her plan seems to work out well enough, until there's a knock on the front door and the man still is in the shower.

She groans. Great idea to invite family over that's always ten minutes early – and not awkward at all to let her one night stand meet her brother and sister-in-law.

Her feet feel heavy as she heads for the door, and she has just opened it to see David and Mary Margaret's smiling faces when she hears the shower being turned off.

"What was that?" David frowns and stretches his neck as if hoping to see through the closed door to the bathroom. Both om them enter the apartment and Emma closes the door behind them. "Did Ruby spend the night here?"

"Ehm –"

Mary Margaret's eyes widen. "Is it a guy?!"

"Well, actually –"

"Emma, why did you invite us over if there's a guy here?" David looks around, as if to measure the time it would take for him and his wife to leave before the mystery man comes out from the bathroom, when said man comes out. His hair is wet, and Emma is thankful he's wearing clothes.

(She vaguely remembers the pattern of the shirt from last night and is quite positive she's seen those leather pants before.)

David gasps. "Killian?!"

Killian – _apparently_ – raises both his eyebrows with a huge grin as he strides up to Emma's brother. "Mate!"

They hug and Emma briefly wonders if there's hole in the ground she can crawl into. It's not enough that she did the one thing she swore she wouldn't do and brought home a complete stranger and that she invited her brother to come to the rescue, they have to be friends as well.

Like this isn't bad enough. Now she might see Killian again and get overly attached like she did with Paulie, the dog David's family had when Emma came to stay with them permanently. Paulie got cancer just after Emma's 13th birthday and even though she'd only known him since she was 8, she couldn't stop crying for a week.

(Some shrink once told her that she formed strong bonds with people or other living creatures because she was afraid of being abandoned again, just like she had been as a young girl. To Emma, that sounded more like she would fall in love with everyone she met and never let them go again. She went into exile for a while after that, until David promised her that wasn't the case.)

She watches the two friends slowly pull away so that Killian can embrace Mary Margaret, too, because apparently Killian knows everyone in Emma's life.

"What a small world," Emma cuts in then, trying not to sound awkward and failing miserably. All three faces turn to look at her.

"Not _that_ small," David says with a shrug. "Killian was at your birthday party last night."

She raises her eyebrows and meets Killian's gaze. "You were there?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

Killian laughs. "David invited me. Said there was someone there I should meet."

Now David laughs. "Well, that was Emma, actually."

"You were trying to set me up with your sister?"

"You were trying to set me up with someone?!"

David looks at Emma the same way he did when he destroyed his mother's finest flowers when they were kids or when he accidentally dropped a box of eggs outside Mrs. Hillside's front door, one floor beneath them; it's his puppy eyes, when he tries to act as innocent as he can with a minimal damage outcome.

She sighs, because she can't stand a chance with those eyes. "Ugh, fine. I forgive you."

He walks up to her and wraps his arms around her body, putting his lips against her ear to whisper. "Emma, I want you happy. You weren't happy with Neal and you're definitely not happy like this, never allowing yourself to feel. Emotions are what make us who we are and you can't just shut them off." He presses a soft kiss to her temple before he draws back and locks his eyes with hers with a smile, which she returns.

"Well, I think we'd better get going," Mary Margaret says with a cheeky grin as she takes her husband's hand in her own and starts leading him out of the apartment.

Emma only has the time to start a sentence before the door slams shut and she's alone with Killian again, not sure what to do or say next.

Fortunately for her, Killian speaks. "I think I should inform you that I was not aware of you being his sister up until this very moment."

She nods, accepting what he says for truth. "Okay."

"I should best be going then. If you would like to go out for a coffee sometimes – ?"

She allows a small smile to escape. "Maybe."

"I'll take a maybe over a rejection any day."

They stand silent for a moment or two, just watching each other, before Emma makes her decision. She wonders if Killian can see the way her heart is about to beat out of her chest, because there must be a mark from it through her sweater.

She takes the tiniest step forward and watches him watch her. "I don't think we've been introduced yet."

He grins. "That is true. My name is Killian." He offers his hand to her and she takes it, still letting her feet move inch by inch towards him.

"Hi, Killian." She lets go and places her hand on his shoulder instead. By now, she's so close she can almost count the lashes on his eyes (at least a thousand) and can feel his breath over her face.

(He definitely took some of her toothpaste, because no person alive wakes up _that_ minty fresh.)

He keeps still, almost as if he's a statue she's examining, and she appreciates it; if he were to move, she might lose the courage she just found. His eyes are the same blue she remembers, with spots of gray in them, like it was sprinkled on. She lets her lips rest less than half an inch away from his.

"My name is Emma."

She closes the small gap between them to kiss him, not even bothering to suppress the shiver that goes through her body when he lifts his hand to drag his fingers through her hair. It feels great, despite the fact that her nose keeps bumping into his, and she almost can't keep from laughing because _of course_ he'd be a fantastic kisser, even with his stubble that burns her cheeks.

It's short, but neither of them pulls away far after.

"Nice to meet you, Emma." He smiles. "And happy birthday."


	50. If you say so

_a/n: Title from Lea Michele's song If you say so._

* * *

><p><span><strong>If you say so<strong>

* * *

><p>She stares at the pitch black ceiling above the bed, counting the number of breaths he does per minute, wondering how to tell if someone is faking sleep. It's not that she doesn't want to be awake by herself, but more so that the epiphany she had seconds after he fell asleep can't seem to escape her mind and makes her increasingly impatient to share it. She doesn't want to wake him - this is the first week of peace and quiet they've had for a very long time, and only the third night in a row he doesn't tussle and turn from nightmares - so she tries to tune out the sound of his breath as it rushes past her neck and arm, and the way his hair twists and turns on places on his head that hasn't even touched the pillow, in the hopes that she'll fall asleep.<p>

It doesn't work.

He sighs then, content and peaceful, and she turns her head slightly so she's just a few inches from his face.

"I love you," she whispers into the darkness of her bedroom despite not being sure if he's awake or not, hoping he'll hear her words anyway. She stays perfectly still even as his breath stops - she's so close, that despite the scarce lightning she can see how he closes his lips, as if to take in enough air through his nose for a large, relieved, breath.

"I love you more," he replies easily just a few short seconds later, releasing the warm air over her face, his eyes still closed.

She smiles and puts her hand lightly on his cheek. "If you say so."

(She can't think of any way he'd be able to love her more than she loves him in that moment.)

* * *

><p>Looking around at the mess he's made in the kitchen - <em>her<em> kitchen no less - he feels guilty; splatters on the cupboards and the tile, more dishes than he's sure he can handle by himself and a meal that looks far from the appetizing picture it made in the book Belle had given him.

When there's a sound of a keys turning in the lock, he doesn't have time to do anything other than stare stupidly as she walks into the apartment and takes in the sight. He closes his eyes, afraid to see disappointment or annoyance, and wishes for the hundredth time - _that month_ - that he'd have two fully functional hands so that he'd be able to do things like this properly for her. Cook for her; surprise her with a home-made dessert that didn't take him the better part of a day to make; be able to do the dishes without smashing three glasses and a plate because he wasn't able to hold it properly with his hook.

"What's this?" she wonders, and the amusement in her voice is hard to miss. He risks a glance at her, and is met by a large grin.

"I wanted to make you a feast." He shrugs, even though it feels it's his soul lying on the plates in front of him. "It seems I only managed a disaster."

She laughs then, stepping closer to him until she has her arms around his neck, not even bothering to look at the mess. "You're amazing, do you know that?"

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards. "I've heard such rumors before, aye."

She laughs again, bright and happy, and he can't understand why he thought she would've been angry with him in the first place.

"I love you," he says and presses a light kiss to her lips, his thumb moving on its own accord on her waist.

"I love you more," she replies, eyes closing as she leans in further, standing up on her toes to reach properly.

He sighs, takes in the combined smell of her and his disastrous cooking. "If you say so, love."

(He can't think of any way she'd be able to love him more than he loves her in that moment.)


	51. 744 hours

_A/N: For a writing meme. Got the sentence "I need you to wake up because I can't do this without you." Ouch. _

* * *

><p><span><strong>744 hours<strong>

* * *

><p>Her hands shake as she reaches for his; it feels cold against the tips of her fingers and is eerily still, even at her touch, even as a part of her expects some reaction from him. His face looks peaceful - as if he's dreaming about some faraway country where he can be anyone he'd like, and not someone continuously the target of curses and spells gone wrong by the new villain in their ridiculous town - and for a split second, she can almost believe that he's just sleeping.<p>

(_Come back to me_, she thinks, willing him to hear it even though she knows he won't.)

"Killian," she says, the words coming out in a quiet whisper. Her throat feels dry when she speaks his name, and it hurts more than it does to look at him as he's lying there in the hospital bed, the monitor beeping at a slow, even, pace - slower than it's supposed to, according to what she heard Whale say to the nurse the day before. Some days it gets too much for her, breathing seeming almost impossible when she understands he won't wake up. Today is a day of mixed feelings, going up and down like a rollercoaster.

"Killian," she repeats. "I need you to wake up, because I can't do this without you." The lump in her chest grows bigger, impossibly so - if it takes up any more space, she worries her heart might have trouble beating properly.

"Mom," Henry says from the doorway. She turns her face to look at her son, whom she hadn't been aware were standing there, not letting go of Killian's hand.

"Any news?" She asks even though she already knows the answer. After a month like this, it goes on routine.

He shakes his head, and doesn't even try to smile at her. She can see that it's breaking him, too, as his eyes flick over to Killian before landing back on her. "Maybe - maybe you could try again?"

The lump grows even more. "It won't work, kid. It would've worked the first or the tenth time if that were the case."

"I just thought -"

"I know," she interrupts, stretching out her free hand for him to take. He moves forward and squeezes it. "You should eat something. Will and Belle are probably at Granny's, go now and you'll have some company."

He seems to hesitate, but leaves after giving her a peck on the cheek. She waits until she's sure he is out of sight before turning back to Killian, eyes filling with tears.

"Do you want me to let you free?" she whispers, wondering if it will be this painful to breathe forever. "I probably should. Who am I to keep you here for selfish reasons? It's not like I'm your True Love."

Some tears spill over as she say the words out loud, even if it is the truth. She can still remember every single second of those frightening moments after he had fallen under the curse, when she had bent down on staggering legs to kiss him, expecting to be met with a grin or a tiresome remark about another day at the office, only to realize it did not work. Vaguely, she had heard her parents gasp. Inside, she shattered into a million pieces.

She closes her eyes, fingers hard clasped around his hand, and tries to remember the sound of his voice.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, she's sitting in the same chair by the bed when there's a soft knock on the doorframe.<p>

"Belle." She attempts a smile, but isn't sure if it looks more like she's constipated. She doesn't really care.

"Emma," Belle smiles, genuinely and sympathetic. "I found the book."

Emma rolls her head from side to side, stiffness in her neck, an ache in her entire body. She's tired, but it's impossible to sleep without the nightmares, so she avoids it for as long as she can. "What book?"

"The one containing all curses in existence. And I might've found the one that hit Killian."

"Is there a way to reverse it?" She is aware of how foolish it would be to get her hopes up, but she can't help it. Her heart skips a beat as Belle nods.

"True Love's kiss."

And it sinks to the bottom of her feet.

"So another dead end. Literally." It's easy to make ironic jokes, as it avoids letting her thoughts spin on and on at the reality that Killian won't be there with her next Christmas putting up the tree in their apartment, and that she'll never wake up in the early mornings ever again to find him watching her with a smile.

(She thought the image would be forever etched into her memory, but after just a short month she's having troubles remembering how far up the corner of his lip would go or how his hair looked after a night's sleep.)

"No," Belle says and Emma frowns. "It's called a time consuming curse, having the sole purpose of taking time until it can be undone."

"How much time?" She speaks slowly, trying to understand why anyone - villain or no villain - would want to play such a cruel trick.

"744 hours." Belle smiles again. "That's 31 days, Emma."

"But that's - that's -"

"That's tomorrow, yes."

When she gets up and throws her arms around Belle in the hardest embrace she's ever given, the sobbing just comes, so they stay like that for the better part of an hour.

And then she waits.

* * *

><p>The sun is creeping in through an open gap in the bedroom window, shining straight onto her face. At first she's sure this is what woke her up, but a familiar feeling of being watched comes over her, so she opens an eye carefully.<p>

"Good morning, love," Killian says with a smile, already watching her.

She smiles back, a yawn escaping her. "Morning."


	52. I think we need to talk

_A/N: From a prompt at tumblr._

* * *

><p><span><strong>"I think we need to talk."<strong>

* * *

><p>He freezes as he's walking away from her and turns on his heels faster than she thought possible for a human being to move, eyes burning with a passion she hasn't seen in there for almost two weeks - before the arguments started. Or rather, <em>argument<em>. It's ridiculous, when she thinks about it, how they both manage to be so stubborn and neither wanting to meet the other half-way as if it is a matter of life and death.

He comes to a stop a shy foot in front of her, eyebrow raised in a challenge she wasn't aware she'd started.

"I agree," he says, and she can hear the laughter in his voice.

"I am sick of this." She gestures between them. "It shouldn't be this hard, Killian."

He sighs, shoulders slowly heaving up and down. "Perhaps we should go to your father for assistance in this."

Emma huffs a short laugh and moves closer to him, hands seated firmly on her waist. "So that he can take your side in this? Over my dead body."

Killian smirks and picks up a strand of her hair with his fingers. "Now that would be a shame indeed."

"We could _compromise_." She says the word carefully, watching for his reaction.

He nods instantly, a thoughtful look spreading on his face. "And how would we go about that? Combining the two perhaps?"

She gives him a dead stare. "I am not painting our daughter's room _orange_, Killian."

"Of course not. Just mixing our options together is not the solution. I suggest two walls of each."

She weighs the idea inside her mind, trying to picture how that would look, coming to the conclusion that it's not a bad concept. She nods then, stretching up to meet him in a quick kiss. "Deal. Why didn't we do this earlier? Could've speared us the week and a half of arguing."

He grins wide - almost wickedly. "And miss the make-up part of such a long row?"


	53. Can I kiss you?

_A/N: From a prompt at tumblr._

* * *

><p><span><strong>"Can I kiss you?"<strong>

* * *

><p>She looks up at him, eyes meeting the top of his head where he's leaning against his knees, her brows furrowed deep. "What kind of a question is that?"<p>

He shrugs, a crooked smile on his lips visible from where she sits next to him, but doesn't reply even though he does open and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if he can't form the words he wants to, so she asks again.

He lifts his head, face displaying all sorts of emotions at once; uncertainty, fear, adoration and even lies about words he hasn't spoken yet. And love. She can definitely see some of that in there as well.

"I just thought it nice to ask for a change." He smiles properly at her, and she takes his hand in her own, lacing their fingers together.

"Something is bothering you," she simply states, refusing to let go of his gaze.

He pinches his lips together and she sees fear flash across his face again, so she leans in towards him.

"Hey, I didn't mean that you have to tell me. I just meant that you shouldn't let it make you uncertain about _us_."

"It isn't." He leans his forehead against hers, but she can tell he isn't being honest - that he doesn't even convince himself with his words. "I promise."

As if to emphasize his point, he brushes his lips gently over hers, a quiet breath escaping as he pulls back. She puts her free hand under his chin to avoid him turning away from her just yet.

"I'm here whenever."

"I know," he says and she can tell that he believes her.

(Less than a week later, she wakes up in the middle of the night - moon shining brightly against the curtains in her bedroom, the sound of the wind breezing in through the open window - to him kicking and screaming.

_A nightmare._

He sobs names she doesn't recognize, whimpers until she's sure it is breaking her heart in two, before she manages to wake him up, sweat glistening on his forehead.

She leans in, more than a thousand questions bouncing inside her mind; who is the princess you did those things to; why are you plagued by this now; what can I do to make it better. None of them is what comes out when she finds her words after a few minutes, not much more than a whisper. "Can I kiss you?"

Out of breath, still freaked out probably, his eyes flicks to her as he nods, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

She kisses him until she's sure he won't dream of anything else but her that night.)


	54. It's you

**It's you**

* * *

><p>She seeks him out when the dust has settled; when everyone is sure she won't turn evil for good, when her parents has gone to bed, when Henry has returned home with Regina and Robin, and when Killian himself has retreated back to the Jolly Rogers, eyes on hers until he was too far away to see anymore. They'd all done the reunion thing, happy tobe alive, hugs for everyone basically, and Emma had kissed Killian (or maybe he had kissed her; she find that it doesn't really matter), all the words she couldn't say - still isn't sure if she can - compressed into that single touch between them.<p>

(Somehow, she knows that he gets it.)

(And somehow, this isn't enough anymore.)

So she seeks him out, not as nervous as she would've anticipated - that is, until he answers her quiet knock on the door leading to the captain's quarters, eyes tired, hair all over the place, a small frown on his forehead.

"Swan?" He drags his hand over his face, as if trying to gain some consciousness.

Her mouth open and closes a few times on its own accord, and she can't think of a single thing to say that doesn't scare the crap out of her. She _wants_ to say a million different things, though. Like how she feels for him in a way she never really understood before, when she just heard about it in stories or from distant friends at parties she didn't want to attend. Or how it's hard for her to believe that someone could want her - _love_ her - like he does, when all she's learned her entire life is that what people do best is leave. That people, in general, abandons you and lets you fight battles in life all on your own, with nobody left to stand by your side, not even when you need it the most.

But what she wants to say and what she has the courage to say are two wildly different things, it turns out.

He walks closer to her, a worried look on his face now. "Swan, is everything alright?"

She nods, wondering what it would be like not to be a total moron and a coward. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and steps into him, curling her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. He does the same, his hand going up to rest on the back of her neck, and it's easy to find some courage in his touch, to want to have it like this forever. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of worn leather and cologne she's pretty sure her dad helped Killian buy. It's comforting, soothing almost, and when her mouth opens this time, words spill out.

"It's you for me, too, Killian," she says into his shoulder, praying he understands her confusing sentence, and hearing his intake of breath clearer than anything she's ever heard before. And she already knew this, really; that he's as scared as she is. She moves back from him to be able to see his face, a small smile playing at his lips, telling her he already knew - but that he, at the same time, were waiting for her to find a way to form the words.

She meets his eyes. "You're my happy ending, too."


	55. Are you drunk?

_A/N: From a prompt at tumblr._

* * *

><p><span><strong>"Are you drunk?"<strong>

* * *

><p>The words bounce inside her mind, firmly hitting the walls of her skull without really doing anything other than give her a headache - his voice is too loud for the quiet space of his small room onthe Jolly Rogers.<p>

"I - I am very much not presently that." Scanning the room for a chair - anything really - to sit on, preferably lie down on, she smiles proudly when she spots his bed. Thankfully, it is only three steps away from her, but she still manages to trip over her own feet six times before landing headfirst on the soft surface. Must be the shoes, she thinks gleefully. "You should try sleeping here. 'S comfy."

He grins; she can tell that much, even with her eyes half-closed. "Did you have fun with Regina and the wolf?"

Emma frowns. "I've never met a wolf before!"

She thinks she can hear the sound of a chuckle, but isn't bothered by it. Everyone should laugh, even if she can't be sure what it is that's so funny.

"I meant - "

"And what would a wolf do at a bar? Would they let it come inside?" She sits up then, eyes wide-open. "What would they do with it, Killian? What if they kill it?!"

"I am sure they wouldn't."

She sighs out of relief, content with his answer, and lies down again. "'Tis good. But you speak too loud. Sleep now." She points at the spot next to her with what she can only assume is the grace of a queen and grins smugly when he obeys. Vaguely, she understands that she won't feel all that good when she wakes up in a few hours, not if her current headache is anything to go by, but she can't make herself care. A little headache has never killed anyone, right?

She falls asleep shortly after, wondering why the ship keeps spinning round and round and why Killian sleeps with his shoes on.

(She only throws up two times the next day, and Killian feeds her water and fries in between. He smiles when he fills her in on what she can't remember since she came to the ship, and sleeps with his arms curled tight around her later, when she just wants the headache that seems worse than a beheading to stop.

All in all, it's quite nice.)


	56. I promise

_A/N: This is a drabble I wrote just before the finale aired (I'm just now coming around to publishing this, and a bunch of other drabbles, here on ffnet, as you probably can tell.)_

* * *

><p><span><strong>I promise<strong>

* * *

><p>She holds the dagger in a firm, but nonetheless shaky, grip, the only way she can remind herself of why she has to do this and why she has to leave them.<p>

(Why she has to leave _him_, when her heart wrenches inside her chest as her gaze locks on his.)

It's all happening too fast, but it's still as if he's coming closer to her in slow motion, feet barely touching the ground as he takes big strides in order to reach her faster, but he still can't get there fast enough. Finally up close, she can see the pain on his face even clearer and so much hurts at once she can't tell where it's coming from.

"Emma, please don't do this," he pleads, and she want nothing more than to agree and walk out of there, her own fingers around his, and never look back at this whole thing, but she knows that's not a possibility. Not anymore.

"I have to." Her voice comes out shakier than she would've thought and as the words leave her, the first tears spill over. At this, he places his hand on her cheek and she leans in, laying her own hand around his wrist as he dries away one of the tears with his thumb.

"Find me," she whispers. "Or I'll find you. Either way, you have to promise me."

He moves in even closer until his forehead rests on hers. "I promise."

She wants to stay with him there - would stay forever if she could - but she's aware that time is slipping away quickly.

"I love you," she says as a few more tears roll down her cheeks, leaning in the final inches for a chaste kiss - would there be time, she'd offer so much more (she'd offer everything) - before backing away, the thunder starting above them, shaking the ground. She sees his lips move, and even though it's impossible to hear what he says over the roar, she can tell he's miming, "I love you, too," over and over again.

Her gaze doesn't leave his until she has to - until it's time - but when she closes her eyes and waits for the portal to spit her out, all she sees is his pained smile and wet eyes.

She lands with a loud thump, almost dropping the dagger in her fall, and manages to stand up on shaky legs, a large black hole in her chest where she can all but imagine Henry, her parents and Killian is supposed to be. Looking around, she doesn't recognize this new place, but it doesn't really matter; she's going home, to them and to _him_, irreversible spell or not.


	57. Just with you

_A/N: Daddy Killian is a favorite of mine, and there's a scene from the cheesy movie Rumour has it that I really love, so I combined the two and got this. _

* * *

><p><strong><span>Just with you<span>**

* * *

><p>Killian nods without taking his eyes off the road, his lips curving upwards at the sound of his 7 year old daughter'sclear voice. She spoke her first word right after her first birthday and has not stopped talking since. Not that Killian minds even a little bit; hearing the sound of her tune makes him smile, always, wondering what he has done to deserve such a treasure in his life.<p>

Her name is Claire, a name he and Emma chose together just a few weeks before the birth. They had wanted something new for just the two of them and when they found it - in a short text in one of the magazine's at Granny's - they had pointed at it simultaneously, agreeing it was just perfect for their daughter.

Emma had taught him to drive when they found out she was pregnant and David had helped when she'd been too nauseated to stand up straight. It was horrifying - at first - controlling such a metal contraption, and Killian constantly saw all the possible ways to kill someone when he was out on the roads, especially should his hook get stuck the wrong way somewhere. (Not that he kept the hook after Claire was born. It seemed less - well,_deadly_, to trade it in for a plastic hand instead.) It got easier, though, and before long he felt as confident behind the wheel in a car as he did a ship - albeit a somewhat different experience. Sometimes Emma would snicker at him for driving past the speed limit with the sheriff in the car, and he'd grin back, eyes drifting off the road every now and again to look at her.

"Why are you so bad at driving?" Claire asks and he almost - _almost_ - lets his gaze fall from the road at her declaration from the passenger seat. Emma huffs a laugh from the back, which he wants to glare at her for, but when he attempts to do just that in the rearview mirror he's once again struck with how beautiful she is when she laughs - how beautiful she always is - and the glare falls off his face before it even got there.

"What do you mean, love?"

Claire sighs in what sounds as contemplation. He can see her bite on one of her finger nails in the corner of his eye, as if she's thinking of how to phrase her words properly. After a few more moments, she opens her mouth. "Well, you drive so slow, Daddy. Mum and Granddad and Henry and everyone else drive so fast, but you are like a snail."

At that, he laughs. "I don't drive slowly; it's careful."

Claire nods, agreeing with what he's saying. "Then why are you so careful?"

Unable to fight the urge, he steals a glance over at his daughter to see her blinding smile, a reflection of her mother's, and he can't resist putting his hand on her small cheek, just for a couple of seconds. "I'm only careful when you're in the car with me."

Claire giggles, in the same way she used to do when she was a few years younger, and it's a sound he's positibe he could hear over and over again, never getting tired of it. "Love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, lass."

Claire talks the rest of the drive home, as per usual, commenting on the passing cars, the colors of the houses along the street and the different kinds of animals she sees. The smile on Killian's lips seems - and_ feels_ - permanent.

(Later, as they prepare dinner with Claire playing in her room, Emma comes up to him at the kitchen counter and gives him a kiss, eyes earnest. It's easy these days, arms going around her waist without thinking about it, feet shuffling in closer to hers.

"Have I told you recently what a great dad you are? Because you are," she says when she parts from him, smiling.

And she has told him this numerous times over the years - at nighttime waddling, after a day of make-up and pink nail polish he kept for almost a week, and many more. This doesn't mean his heart still doesn't swell at her words, the reality of them sinking in.

"Aye," he says, curling a strand from her hair around the fingers of his artificial hand. "As are you, Swan."

(When they are alone, they still sink back into old habits sometimes, even though her name has been Swan-Jones for over eight years now. He likes the way her eyes react to the nickname that is only theirs.))


	58. You and I

**You and I**

* * *

><p>Growing up, Emma learned many things, a few of which helped her survive those nights when she couldn't do much else but curl around her cold legs and hold in the tears. Other things - such as the lessons that people never stay unless something is in it for them or how it's not worth the pain you have to go through just for love - tend to come up at the surface at crucial moments. It's rarer, now, than it had been just a few years back, but she's still afraid and it still hurts.<p>

With Killian, she finds, it comes easier than with her parents. Clinging to the words he says, knowing he gets what she wants to say even if she doesn't always respond. Weeks pass where she starts having trouble remembering how it was back then, and how much it can hurt, but she sees what he's saying in his eyes and she has to believe him when it's so easy to listen.

So she takes her time with him, letting herself get used to having someone to depend upon, to trust. She has that with Henry, too, of course, and thought she did with her parents. (The pain of learning to trust them again is brutal, seeing the hurt in their eyes and knowing of their regret but still not being able to truly forgive them just yet.) But with Killian it is slightly different, even though she doesn't even know how. She wonders if she'll ever be able to say how she truly feel without having the panic rise in her chest, so she waits for when it will come naturally, when the words will be something she _has_ to say, rather than something she just _wants_ to say; it's a difference she's willing to wait for.

He doesn't seem in a hurry, either, so it's easier to relax with him, knowing it doesn't have to go any further than a touch of their lips, a brush on her cheek or a tug on a strand of her hair. That last frightening step feels like a long one on some days, but as no more than a shuffle on other days. She finds that she likes the latter a whole lot more.

When she goes to see him, determination in her gut, he doesn't seem surprised. He smiles and drags her in for a quick greeting kiss, obviously not expecting more but still wanting. And she wants, too, which makes it easier to not let him go, and to instead hold on tight, taking more command than she would've guessed she had the courage for.

When she unravels beneath him to the sound of him whispering her name over and over again, she guides his face up from her neck to be able to kiss him, and find herself being overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions at once; emotions that she has a word for; emotions that has a strong urge to be shared.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips, then, just as the world explodes in color, and he follows closely after.

His breathing heavy, he lifts his head to be able to meet her gaze, a look of awe on his face, as if not quite daring to believe the words he just heard her say. He smiles.

"And I you."


	59. Are you dunk? - WillKillian edition

_A/N: Another prompt from tumblr, this time with Will and Killian bonding. _

* * *

><p><span><strong>"Are you drunk?"<strong>

* * *

><p>Killian doesn't bother lifting his head to see who his unwelcome company is, mostly because he's at his fifth glass of whatever liquor the waitress at the bar is serving him, but also because he already knows and it is company he could do without. Well, truth be told, he could to without anyone's comapny.<p>

(There _is_ someone's company he needs like air, though.

It's been two months.)

So he shrugs in response, taking another large gulp of the yellowish drink in his glass. It's not that bad, he'll say that much, but it's no rum either. Not that rum would be an option. Too many memories.

(Despite the slight buzz, the liquor is doing nothing for the pain and frankly not much to make him drunk either, it seems. He has a feeling the waitress is not giving him anything as strong as she claims it is, but on some nights, such as this, it is easier to accept and drink to keep the mind occupied.)

"Then you won't mind me joining you, mate." Will sits himself down at the chair right next to Killian, clearly ignoring the sigh from his companion. "Come on then. What're you having?"

Killian points at the woman handing out a couple of beers to some men he doesn't recognize and honestly hasn't had the time to greet anyway, what with the constant search parties and so forth. He can't say that he minds.

"Ask her. I don't know.

(During the days, he's determined and fierce, fighting through heaven and hell in order to get her back, Henry and her parents at his aid. Then darkness falls, the boy goes to sleep at his grandparents, and Killian is left alone to stare at the wallpaper in his room at Granny's. It is blue, with seagulls and boats, and has no effect whatsoever when it comes to making him calm.

So he thinks about her, about all that wasn't said and her face during the last moment he saw her, and falls asleep just as the sun rises.)

"Well that's helpful. Why so glum?"

He shrugs again, finding it hard to speak when he'd rather do _anything_ else.

"I hear you lot had a breakthrough. I would've thought you'd be more chipper."

Killian almost huffs a laugh. A breakthrough. Sure. If you call managing to narrow the place Emma had vanished off to, to 'the earth and most likely this realm'.

Greatsuccess, indeed.

(He _had_ been happy about it earlier. Being almost certain she's in the same realm is great news, as it means she'll be easier to find.

But without Henry's giant grin as a reminder, it's hard to remember why that was something to be cheerful about in the first place.)

"Sure," Killian replies, feeling words on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. He drags his hand over his face. "I never told her I loved her, too. What if I won't get the chance to again?"

Will is silent for a few moments, managing to order something to drink just pointing with his fingers. He takes a mouthful as soon as it's placed in front of him, swallowing with a slight grimace.

"Then you fight until you can," Will says then, as if it's that simple. And perhaps it is, Killian's mind agrees. The knowledge doesn't make the pain ease, though, seeing as that's not the worst part of this whole ordeal. It's not that he hasn't been able to tell her how much he cherish her, and how he'd like to spend the rest of his life like this with her, waking up to the sight of her hair thrown over her pillow. It's the harsh truth that now, maybe, he won't get that life at all.

He spins his glass in circles with a few of his fingers, the wound in his chest open, making him want to give into the urge to scream until he runs out of air. Still, when he speaks again, it comes out no more than a whisper.

"I miss her."

Will sighs. "I know you do, mate." A pause. "Have I ever told you about Anastasia?"


End file.
